


a lord's guide to love & smart estate management

by asael



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-05-07 14:12:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19211065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asael/pseuds/asael
Summary: At the request of his employer, Adam Parrish visits the estate of the taciturn yet handsome Lord Ronan Lynch. He is a terrible host, and awfully rude. But as it turns out, Adam doesn't mind that as much as he might expect.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to finish up all my unfinished projects before Call Down the Hawk comes out. This one is very self-indulgent, I regret nothing. It'll be updated once a week until it's finished, and I'll update the tags as I go along. There will be explicit content in later chapters.

“You’ll be getting off here.”

Adam looked at weedy, overgrown drive and then at the coachman with some skepticism. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe the coachman - though the man did look a bit disreputable, Adam had engaged his services personally rather than allowing Gansey to find him transportation, so he was sure the man was reasonably honest. It was rather that he found it hard to believe that _these_ were lands that belonged to nobility, and rich nobility at that. It looked more like the path to a wicked witch’s house - or perhaps at the end he’d find a crumbling, haunted estate, like something out of the novels Blue was fond of. The most unsettling thing was that he could see no sign of a house behind those trees - not even the tip of a roof peeking out.

The coachman looked back at him with a blank face, though Adam thought he detected some amusement in the man’s eyes. Well, he’d gotten himself into this, and he had a duty to Gansey.

“Very well,” he said, and stepped out of the coach. His back ached a touch from all the jostling on the uneven country roads, and in fact he was rather ready for a bit of a walk, so he didn’t see any point in trying to convince the coachman to take him down the drive. He wasn’t entirely sure the coach would fit under those overhanging trees, in any case, though he supposed they had to get carts down there somehow. Surely the lord of the house needed supplies at times.

The coachman unloaded his belongings - only a small valise with documents and another case, barely larger, with his clothing. Adam thanked him again, watched as the coach continued on its way, then took a breath and headed down the drive.

He had noticed, as he got further from the city, the freshness of the air. All the people packed into the city, all the coal they burned, the butcher’s shops and the tanners and the sewage - Adam had barely noticed it, really, except when it was particularly bad. He’d spent the last ten years of his life in the thick of it, ever since he’d escaped from his father’s home, and he’d forgotten the fresh, clean air of the countryside.

The trees were familiar too, now that he was among them. He’d once escaped to the wooded areas to play, away from his father’s critical eye and heavy hand - and when he was older, he’d escaped to read books borrowed from the vicar’s wife, an eccentric woman who’d set him on his path out of there.

And now he was back.

Well, not back. Not really. The village Adam had grown up in was thirty miles away, but still too close for comfort. He’d never thought he would come back - had thought, somewhere in the back of his mind, that if he ever did return to the countryside, it would be somewhere far from here.

But here was where Gansey wanted him, and so here was where he was.  
The drive twisted wildly through the trees, until Adam was only thankful that there was a clear rutted path through the woods, or else he’d have been long since lost. Then the ground descended, and the path came out of the trees, and he saw the house.

It was set at the bottom of a hill, which explained why Adam had seen no sign of it. The trees had handily concealed any hint of its presence, and of anything beyond them, but now that Adam saw the house and grounds - well, now it made sense.

It was reasonably grand, though nothing on any of the Gansey estates. Certainly a younger Adam would have been astonished by its size and beauty, but the Adam of now was more impressed by the grounds.

They were green and beautiful, and seemed to go on forever. There were fields, grassy and speckled with sheep, and beyond that hills covered with brush and a sprinkling of flowers, rising into craggier and taller hills. It was not manicured or designed, the way some men with money chose, manufacturing pools and attractive diversions. It was pure nature, and beautiful at that.

Adam stood for a moment, lost in the view. He could not quite name what he felt, but he knew that whatever it was, it was probably foolish and would not serve him well. His job here was likely going to be difficult enough without being distracted by the beauty of the place. After all, he was not there on holiday.

He tightened his grip on his luggage and descended into the valley that held the estate. It was important to keep his mind on the task at hand, at accomplishing it and returning to his usual work. Though he supposed ‘usual work’, while in Gansey’s employ, could mean just about anything.

At the door of the house, he knocked smartly, and waited. And waited. And knocked again, and waited longer.

Just as Adam began to fear that he would need to make that trek back up the hill and attempt to make his way back to the nearest town, the door opened. The man who glared at him from the other side did not have the air of a butler, or a servant, or really anything except perhaps a man on the brink of violence.

It was not terribly often that Adam, rather tall himself, had to look up at someone else. What’s more, the man was broad across the shoulders, he was scowling, and he had the fierce, sharp features of a hungry wolf. His hair was shorn close to his head, in defiance of fashion, all the better to give him a spare and brutal look. If Adam had run into him in a dark alley somewhere, he would have expected to be promptly removed of his purse, and possibly his life.

But Adam, observant and usually level-headed, noticed the man’s clothing a moment later. Though it was nowhere near the height of gentleman’s fashion, consisting mainly of dark clothing thrown together with little care for appearance, it was, to a piece, finely made. Not the clothing of a servant.

“Lord Lynch,” he said. “My name is Adam Parrish. Lord Richard Campbell Gansey the Third sent me.”

It was an educated guess, and from the way the man scowled Adam thought for a moment he’d gotten it wrong. Then his thin mouth curled, and he spoke. “Forgot you were coming.”

His eyes, icy blue and piercing, raked over Adam. Adam straightened unconsciously, then cursed himself for doing so. He’d spent years forcing himself to speak to noblemen with exactly the right amount of respect - not too little, not too much. No slips of the tongue that would expose him as a boy who hadn’t had a real education until far later than usual, no cringing that would give the impression he wasn’t used to the company of the upper class.

He’d worked hard at it, and he never slipped up. Not anymore. But somehow this man, the way he looked at Adam - it brought back that old insecurity. That certainty that his low origins were written across his face.

The lord of the estate looked at him for just a little longer than was comfortable. Adam swallowed down that discomfort as best he could. Gansey had warned him that Lord Lynch could be difficult. He could handle this, as he’d handled everything that had come with working for Gansey so far.

Lynch stepped back, then, sudden and distracting. “Fine. Do what you want.”

That seemed to be as much of a welcome as Adam was going to get. He followed Lynch - it was difficult to think of the man as a lord, as the son of an earl, though Adam knew he was one - inside the house, peering around himself with what was meant to be polite curiosity. It quickly turned into disbelief instead.

The house was not a ruin, exactly. What it was was a complete mess.

A messy stack of letters and papers littered the sideboard, in no order that Adam could determine. A pair of muddy boots rested next to the door. A number of half-finished projects lay in corners - Adam couldn’t tell what any of them were supposed to be. Art? Inventions? Something in between?

There were more papers scattered on a chair, and at least three separate jackets of one type or another - none particularly fashionable - thrown in corners or over other chairs.

The furniture itself, and the house’s interior, was mostly in good shape. That was the only thing that reassured Adam. At one point in the not so terribly recent past, there had been servants keeping this house in order. They may not have stepped foot inside in - oh, at least a month - but they _had_ been here.

Adam was familiar with chaos. Working for Gansey, he’d spent a good deal of his time organizing his employer’s wildly ranging research. It had been a big job at first, but once he’d implemented filing systems and other organizational tactics, it had become much easier. There was some part of him, seeing this place, that wanted nothing more than to go to work on it.

But, of course, that wasn’t why he was here.

He realized suddenly that Lynch had continued deeper into the house, with no glance back to see if he was following. Apparently his command to ‘do what you want’ had absolved him of all responsibility, at least in his own mind.

What Adam should do was find a servant. A housekeeper. _Someone_ to tell him what room he’d been given, to tell him where the library was, to give him a place to start his work once he’d rested. A meal wouldn’t go amiss, either. It was nearly suppertime, and Adam had not eaten since breakfast at the coaching inn that morning.

But one look at the house around him told him there was little hope of that. If there had been servants, they would have been the ones answering the door, and the hall wouldn’t be in this state. 

There had to be a cook, at the very least, he thought. No lord cooked their own meals, and this place was too far from the nearest town for food to be brought in each meal. He could find the cook, and he should, but - 

But everything about Lynch’s attitude rubbed him the wrong way. Adam found himself responding to that uncharacteristically, his temper rising. He might have no title and no wealth, but he deserved even the smallest bit of respect as a fellow human being and a man trying to do his job, and he hadn’t been shown that.

“Excuse me, my lord,” he said, sharper than he should have. If he were being honest, he would have to admit that his emphasis on _my lord_ had been a touch disrespectful as well. More than a touch. 

Lynch paused for a moment, but did not look back at him. Adam could read nothing in the set of his shoulders.

“Where am I to stay? When shall I take my meal? Have you servants to direct me?” The questions were forward and pointed. He couldn’t seem to stop himself. Since the moment Lynch had opened the door - perhaps since the moment Adam had stepped out of the trees, to see these lands spread before him - things had felt off-kilter. _He_ had felt off-kilter.

Lynch turned to him, and Adam could read no more in the look on his face than he had in the set of his shoulders. He braced himself for anger, the expected response of a lord who had been disrespected by a lowly secretary.

Lynch only looked at him. He did not seem a man unfamiliar with anger, but he did not seem inclined to express it in that moment, either. Adam didn’t know why - Adam didn’t understand any of this.

“Take the room at the top of the stairs, I guess.” His speech was as casual and terse as it had been at the door. “Food’s in the kitchen, eat when you want. And find your own way around.”

With that, he turned on his heel and left, leaving Adam alone in that cluttered hall.

Adam watched him go, tamping down on the sudden rush of irritation he felt at the man’s rudeness. It shouldn’t matter to him - it wasn’t the first time a rich, landed gentleman had been rude to him, and it wouldn’t be the last. He ought to be used to it by now. Perhaps it was seeing this place that had done it. Perhaps on some level Adam didn’t think it was quite fair for Lynch to be rude to him when it was clear he couldn’t even keep servants around.

Which seemed odd in and of itself. Rudeness usually wasn’t enough to turn servants off. Everyone needed to put food on the table somehow. Was there more to it? Was Lynch a violent man, or a cruel one, or a penny-pincher?

Adam would be willing to believe nearly anything of him, but then, he had been Gansey’s friend. Gansey had called him difficult, and that _had_ been many years ago, but - if there was one thing Adam believed in, it was Gansey’s judgment about people. He had a way of picking out the oddest and most unsuitable of folks and making friends of them. Just look at Adam, hired to be his secretary but now something far more intimate than that. 

Most lords were not friends with their secretaries. They were employers. Adam could still remember, however, the light in Gansey’s eyes when he turned to Adam.

_Mr. Parrish, what do you know about Welsh kings?_

It had all gone downhill from there, Adam thought with some fondness. Gansey might still technically have been his employer, but Adam’s salary was a small thing in comparison to the true friendship that Gansey had offered.

Which, now that he thought about it, could be why he had so easily spoken back to Lord Lynch. Adam’s standards for himself had slipped a little - being familiar with Gansey was one thing, but being so familiar with anyone else, especially a man he had just met, was not appropriate. He would need to watch himself in the future, for all that Lynch hadn’t seemed angered by it.

He smiled to himself, just a bit, as he gathered his bags. Gansey really had been a terribly bad influence on him, but it already felt odd being out of his company. He would have to send a letter - presumably the post even came here, to this hidden country estate - and tell him that his choice of friends in his school days had undoubtedly been just as odd as his current choice.

Up the stairs, the house was equally in disarray. A pane in one of the windows was broken and hadn’t been repaired and there was a collection of books and papers and odd objects strewn around the hall. Adam resolutely ignored this, pushing open the door to the room he’d been told to use, which was - 

Fine.

A bit dusty, since it hadn’t been aired out for his arrival (unsurprising, given the lack of servants), but the room itself was… nice.

Too nice, actually, the sort of room that would be given to a visiting lord of equal rank, not a common secretary. It had its own washing room, a closet for all the clothing that Adam did not have, and even a smaller bedroom off to the side, for a personal servant or a valet. The sort of room that Adam himself would have been staying in - should have been staying in - if he’d arrived with Gansey.

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Lynch had likely just directed him to the only room he knew to be in a decent state. Adam could only imagine what the other rooms looked like, or the servants’ chambers.

He put his things away. He hadn’t brought much - a few changes of clothing, some books for reference, writing supplies. It felt like nothing in this well-appointed room, but even so, Adam didn’t feel as out of place as he would have expected. Maybe it was the dust, the disarray, the clear signs that Lynch was not a typical nobleman. He might look down on Adam - he probably did, most lords had little or no respect for anyone lower than them - but Adam was quite capable of judging him right back.

After opening a window for a bit of air and beating some of the dust out of the bedding, Adam headed downstairs to search for something to eat. He found the kitchen quickly, and with it the only other living being he’d seen so far. An older woman, gray-haired and serious, was working there, hunched over the black stove. She straightened when he entered, peering at him.

“You’re the visitor?” she said, and her accent was thick and countryfied, and Adam was struck with a pang of memory, painful and distant. His mother, telling him to behave. His father’s anger. But for all the pain, it still reminded him of home in the way Gansey’s plummy, high-class speech never could.

“Adam Parrish, ma’am. I’m Lord Gansey’s secretary.” He looked around, wondering if there was a kitchen maid or another servant hidden away somewhere, but it was only her. “I was hoping for something to eat.”

“Ah, that Lord Gansey, he used to come here to visit back in their school days. Nice to see another visitor. I’ll make up a plate for you.” She bustled around the kitchen, getting things out of pots and pans. Adam noted the smell of food, the things cooking. Lynch may not be setting out a formal dinner, but he clearly ate well enough.

“Thank you,” he said. “You know, I was starting to think no one lived here but the earl’s son.”

“No one does,” she said, setting a plate before him with a lovely cut of meat, tender potatoes, and gravy over it all. A hearty country meal, which Adam appreciated, given that he hadn’t eaten since the morning. “Our lord has turned all the other servants away. I only come during the week to cook, on the weekends he’s all alone. The house is in quite a state.”

“Why in the world would he do that?” Adam said. There was something else going on here, something he didn’t understand. A lot of things, probably, and none of them were his business - except that he was going to be living here for at least a few weeks. If Lynch turned out to be conducting medical experiments on unwilling volunteers or running mad through the corridors at night, he wanted some warning.

She shook her head with studied disinterest. “Lord Lynch has always been the contrary sort. I’m sure I don’t know what caused it this time.” Her gaze fell on Adam, and her brows drew down. She slid another cut of meat onto his plate. “Don’t they feed you in the city, skinny as you are?”

Adam thought he should probably be offended - he would have been offended if it had felt more like a comment on his origins, where they really hadn’t fed him well. Instead, it felt like the concern of an aunt or a grandmother, the sort of thing he wasn’t used to but had sometimes secretly wished for.

Besides, it was hard to be offended when the food was so good. He ate it all.

“Don’t let our lord’s odd ways bother you,” she said as she made up another plate. “There’s nothing to fear here, except a messy house and a foolish man who doesn’t know how to act in society.” She spoke like they were equals, which - of course - they were. More than Adam and her Lord Lynch were equals, by far. It still felt odd after so long at Gansey’s right hand, but he didn’t hate it.

“I won’t,” Adam said. “I’m just here to investigate some old tales for my own master. Then I’ll be out of your way.” In truth, he didn’t know if it would be that easy, especially now that he’d gotten a look at the place. The size of the lands alone meant that without a firm lead he could be there for weeks, and the chances of finding a lead - well. After what he’d seen of the house, the chance that the library was in good order was slim at best.

“Stay as long as you like,” she said. “It’ll be nice to have another warm body around here.” With that, she took the plate she’d just made up and bustled out the kitchen door. Bringing the lord of the house his meal, Adam assumed, though it should rightfully be another servant doing that rather than the cook herself.

This was an odd place.

He finished his own meal, warm and full at last. The sun was going down, the cook had vanished off to her home, and Adam was beginning to feel the effects of traveling for so long. He retired to his far too lavish room, walking through the silent and darkened house. There was no sign of Ronan Lynch, no sign that another soul existed except for the messes he’d left behind. But then, the house was large enough that Lynch could be smashing dishes at the other end and Adam would probably not be able to hear it all.

What had he wandered into? What was this place, and who was this man? Gansey’s description had been affectionate but careful, strung through with phrases like _of course, he can be a bit difficult_ and _he did get into a bit of trouble at times_. With Gansey, that could mean so many things - understatement, overstatement, an odd idea of what ‘trouble’ was. Adam didn’t know, and now he was regretting not asking more questions.

But it didn’t matter. Despite Adam’s thoughts, despite his worries, despite his best intentions of staying up to try to put some pieces of his thoughts together, his eyes drifted shut nearly the moment his head hit the pillow, and he slept deeply until dawn.

Nothing had changed when he awoke. The bright light of day only laid bare even more scenes of chaos, furniture with torn upholstery and a broken banister on the stairs and a smashed wineglass that hadn’t been cleaned up. He wondered how Lynch could live like this, and more than that, _why_. But he had a job to do, and the lord of the house was still missing.

So Adam retrieved a makeshift breakfast from the kitchen, bread and cheese and milk, and went off to find the library. There would be records in there, records of the house and lands and the Lynch family, the history surrounding them. Perhaps there he could find a clue to lead him to his goal - or rather, Gansey’s. 

Somewhere on this land there was a tomb. Not Glendower, of course, the king Gansey so admired, but an ally. A knight or a counselor or a magician who legend said had been laid to rest nearby, though since legend couldn’t even seem to remember which one of those things they had been, Adam was half-sure he was on a wild goose chase.

Still, this wasn’t the first time he’d followed a strange and twisting path because Gansey wished it, and it wouldn’t be the last. If he could find the records, he would have somewhere to start.

When he finally found the library, however, his heart sank.

It was just as he’d feared. There was no semblance of order. Some shelves had even been knocked over at some point, and the books lay scattered on the floor. Even the ones that were still upright appeared to lack any kind of categorization. There were loose papers shoved between books, old letters scattered on tables and desks, and Adam couldn’t be entirely certain mice hadn’t been chewing on some of the paper.

He sighed and stared at the mess for one long moment. 

Well, there was nothing for it but to put things in order. Lynch might have preferred living like this, but that didn’t mean Adam intended to go along with it.

He strode to the window and pushed it open, clearing some of the dust from the air. Then he got to work.


	2. Chapter 2

Ronan’s head ached when he awoke. He’d drunk too much the night before, as he should have known he would. For some reason, he hadn’t thought that arrival of Gansey’s secretary would bother him that much, but it had. Maybe it was the intrusion of the outside world after he’d successfully isolated himself for months. Maybe it was the reminder of happier times, his schooldays with Gansey, before his father had died and everything had gone wrong. Maybe it was just that Gansey’s letter had not warned him that his secretary was so damned attractive, and Ronan had not been prepared for it.

Maybe it was all of those things, plus the usual desire for the ease and distraction that came from a bottle of whisky.

He’d eased off on his drinking lately, at least until now. This was, perhaps, a relapse of sorts, but Ronan could not regret it the way he probably should. He’d shut himself in his rooms and bothered no one, certainly not his new guest, so what did it matter? There were no ill effects.

Except, of course, for the weariness in his body and the pounding in his head.

He dressed, wondering for a moment what Gansey’s secretary - Adam Parrish, Ronan remembered his name, the way his voice had curled around the syllables - must think of him. He hadn’t had a valet in years, choosing to dress himself instead. If Parrish spent time with Gansey, he was surely used to the sort of men Gansey was often forced to spend time with. Upstanding, straight-laced, groomed within an inch of their lives. Boring.

But compared to that, Ronan knew he must seem…

Well, Declan would say ‘disappointing’. But if that was the case, that was Parrish’s problem, not his, no matter how pretty the secretary had looked in the dimming sunlight the evening before. Ronan didn’t care what he thought. He made a point of not caring what anyone thought.

He finished pulling on his boots and headed down to the kitchen to fetch himself something to eat. That and water, plenty of water, in hopes that it would clear the pounding from his head. It seemed to help, at least a little bit.

The sun slanted in through the kitchen window, and Ronan realized it was rather late in the day. Nearly lunchtime, in fact. He was used to rising when he pleased and staying up well into the night, but though he hadn’t forgotten he had a visitor (how could he?), he seemed to have forgotten that that wasn’t how people normally did things.

Parrish had seemed like the type who would wake with the sun, Ronan thought with some irritation, but even he realized after a moment that he was being uncharitable. Of course Parrish did, he was a secretary - a servant, really, for all that Gansey clearly didn’t think of him that way. He would rise with the sun and serve at his master’s whims, sleeping only after he was no longer needed. Likely he’d never had the luxury of sleeping until lunchtime a day in his life.

Ronan thought again of the very first letter Gansey had sent. It had mostly been a meandering explanation of some legend of a sleeping king, and some theory about one of his advisors being buried on Ronan’s lands, but there had been more than one effusive paragraph centered around Adam Parrish’s talents, how deeply Gansey trusted him, his intelligence, how if anyone could find this supposed grave it would be him. Matching paragraphs had followed in each subsequent letter.

Gansey still wrote Ronan, one of the few who did. He had promised a visit many times, but Ronan had not expected that Gansey would send his secretary instead. He’d been annoyed at first, and quite frankly, he still was. Based entirely on Gansey’s admiration and their brief meeting the night before, Ronan did not like Adam Parrish.

He had to admit - to himself only, very privately - that he had, however, liked looking at him.

But maybe he was remembering wrong. It had been late, they’d met only for a few moments. Probably Parrish was unremarkable, and Ronan had only been fooled because he was so unused to seeing anyone besides Mrs. Hudgins from the village who cooked for him.

It didn’t matter anyway. Parrish would be gone soon enough, no matter how Ronan felt about him. Maybe he’d gone already.

That was unlikely, but the thought of it still made Ronan slightly uncomfortable. He’d been rude, but Parrish hadn’t seemed deeply offended. He’d spoken quite sharply, but with no real anger. On the other hand, Ronan hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since waking.

He took another long swallow of water, dunked his head in the bucket to wake himself more fully, and went off to find Adam Parrish.

He wasn’t in his room, but his things still were, so he hadn’t left. (Ronan only pushed the door open far enough to see that, not wanting to infringe on whatever privacy the man had.) He wasn’t in the only drawing room that was still useable, he wasn’t in what passed for a garden, which Ronan had let grow wild.

He was, of course, in the library.

It was a room Ronan hadn’t set foot in for some time. He was not the sort for idle reading, and he was even less the sort for studying. He could remember, vaguely, getting very drunk one night and searching the library for something - a letter from his father he thought he’d left there, perhaps. He’d torn books from shelves in his anger and grief, thrown things to the floor. He’d found the letter later, sober, buried in a drawer in his bedside table.

He didn’t think he’d been in the library since.

It looked… different.

About half of it was still a wreck. There were a few shelves on the floor, but all the books that had fallen were stacked into neat piles. The worst of the mess - torn out pages, broken glass - had been cleaned up, and some of the bookshelves still standing had their fallen books replaced.

Parrish stood on the far side of the library, a book in each hand, reading the spines. After a moment, he placed them on the shelf in front of him, one towards the middle and the other halfway down. He clearly had a system, and it was probably his own, since Ronan couldn’t even remember how the library had been organized before he trashed it.

Briefly, he was angry, a hot flash of fury at this interloper in his home. He had allowed Parrish to come, yes, but only to search for Gansey’s legends. Not to go through his things, his father’s books. Not to rearrange, to clean, to act as if he had any right.

But Ronan watched him for a moment longer, and the rage ebbed.

Parrish was turned away, his slim figure silhouetted against the windows. They needed cleaning - most of the things in the house did - but the dirt on them made the sun shine through in a dimmed, hazy way. It fell on Parrish and lined him with light. His dusty hair, his long fingers, his high cheekbones. Something twisted in Ronan’s gut.

It was not the first time he’d been attracted to someone, but it was the first time in a long time that he’d felt this kind of desire. Part of him wanted to be even angrier about that, that Gansey had so thoughtlessly sent Ronan a man who looked like he could have stepped out of Ronan’s most shameful dreams. But Gansey hadn’t known.

Parrish turned, then, and saw him. He jumped, startled. It was not a dramatic reaction, and in fact if Ronan had not been studying him so closely he might not have noticed. Ronan almost felt bad about that, just for a moment.

“What the hell are you doing?” he growled. He wondered if his anger would frighten Parrish, if he would leave without Gansey’s answers. Some part of him wanted that - to be left alone here, where no one would bother him, where he could lock himself away from the world.

But there was another part, one he ruthlessly stomped down, that wished for something else entirely.

If he had truly thought he could frighten Parrish, however, he quickly learned better. Parrish straightened, still holding a book, and met his eyes. 

“This place was a mess,” he said, his words precise and his tone sharp. “I had no hope of finding anything in here. Gansey assured me there’d be records of local legends, something to use as a starting point, but it will be impossible to find them without a complete reorganization.” His eyes were a dusty blue, nicely shaped, and looking at Ronan with a mixture of annoyance and self-righteousness.

He would not be easy to push around. Ronan felt a prick of pleasure at that, which made him scowl more.

“You’ve no right to go through someone else’s possessions,” he said, though he already knew he was arguing mainly out of a desire to be difficult. The library - the house itself - badly needed a complete reorganization. He’d been living like this for long enough that he hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten.

Not until Gansey’s letter. Not until Parrish came, when Ronan saw it through different eyes. Saw it the way Parrish must, fresh from the city, from Gansey’s fancy manor. A hovel, practically, full of dirt and broken furniture, untouched by the hands of servants for - how long had it been?

Weeks. Maybe a couple months, Ronan thought, since he had dismissed the last servant. Even before then it had been getting bad, the house too much for the small handful of servants remaining. But he couldn’t stand their judgment anymore, couldn’t stand the knowledge that they were reporting back to Declan all that he did. The drinking, the rages.

He had gotten better, in fact, since they’d left. He’d drunk less, he’d found a bit of inner balance.

And now, this. A reminder of how far he’d fallen.

An attractive, intelligent reminder, who didn’t seem interested in taking any of Ronan’s aimless anger, and who Ronan absolutely had to keep his hands off of.

Not that there was much chance of anything else. Ronan was in the habit of giving in to some indulgences, yes, but that had never been one of them. Still, when he watched Parrish’s thin lips tighten in annoyance, it was difficult to remember that.

“You must have been the one who caused this mess. If you’re going to damage your own possessions, then I have as much right as anyone to put them right again. Especially when I need them to do my job,” Parrish said, fire behind his words.

Ronan was not surprised that Gansey had found a secretary like this, willing to face down a lord in his own home.

“So you plan to put the whole library aright?” Ronan said, lacing his words with mockery. He had no intention of backing down either, even if all he got out of arguing was seeing Parrish’s eyes flash with anger.

“If I must,” he said, words clipped.

Ronan leaned back against the doorframe and smirked. “Oh? How are you going to get the bookshelves back up?”

There was a long silence. The bookshelves were large pieces of furniture, heavy, and Parrish was a secretary. Not a profession known for their muscles, and though he was not entirely without definition, there was no way he could lift the shelves alone.

His voice stilted and thin, Parrish said: “I could construct a system of pulleys -”

Ronan rolled his eyes and cut him off. “Or I could help you lift them.”

Parrish was silent again, eyeing him.

“Pulleys,” Ronan snorted under his breath. “You really _are_ Dick’s secretary. Only he could find someone as much of a bookish fool as him.”

Ronan thought he saw the corners of Parrish’s mouth twitch. Certainly his gaze was softer, bordering on amusement, or perhaps something else.

“Well, come on, then,” Parrish said. “You look more like a lumberjack than a lord. We may as well put that to use.”

Ronan felt a foolish swell of pleasure at what he was fairly sure Parrish had meant as an insult. He did not want to be a lord, he had never wanted to be one - not the way Gansey was, not the way the boys they’d gone to school with were. That was why he was here. Or part of the reason, anyway.

He huffed under his breath, as if the thought of helping Adam Parrish put the library to rights was a horrible one. A few minutes ago, it might have been. There was still a part of him that flinched from being in here, that flinched from fixing things rather than breaking them into even smaller pieces. But somehow, with Parrish’s blue eyes on him, he wanted to make himself useful.

He didn’t care much for impressing people most of the time. He knew that feeling differently right now was dangerous, that Parrish was a danger, but Ronan had never been good at keeping himself from danger.

The shelves were as heavy as they looked, but Parrish - though indeed not as strong as Ronan, clearly used to desk work - had a good knowledge of angles and weight. Ronan did as he said, with a suitable amount of grumbling and cursing, and before long the shelves were upright again.

Once they were in their proper places, Parrish didn’t hesitate. He began to replace the books, setting those that were too damaged aside, collecting papers and stray notes and making neat piles. Whatever his system was, it seemed orderly and precise. Parrish was extremely efficient. Ronan leaned against the wall near the window and watched his quick, careful movements, the way his hair fell in his eyes, the faint spray of freckles across his cheeks.

He looked at Ronan suddenly, catching him in the act, and said, “You could help.” His tone held judgment, but that wasn’t the reason Ronan responded with a sharp look. He’d been caught staring, and it discomfited him, threw him off his stride. He should not have been staring at all.

It was perhaps sharper than he’d meant it to be - Parrish pressed his lips together, looked away, and went back to work with nothing else said. He had been reminded that Ronan was the lord of this estate, and not to be ordered about by a mere secretary.

Ronan could imagine Declan’s approval. He had never been pleased by the way Ronan treated their servants - like family, because that was how he had seen them. He would not want Ronan to let a servant tell him what to do. He would not want Ronan to think of a servant at all, much less to admire his quiet efficiency and refusal to be pushed around.

The mere thought of that - Declan nodding in approval that Ronan had put a servant in his place - got his hackles up. He wanted to move, to distract himself from his anger, to let it out through pure kinetic motion. In the past, that had sometimes meant breaking things, but it hadn’t for awhile.

Instead, he pushed away from the wall. His intention was to leave the room, but Parrish looked up as he moved, a quick and almost wary movement. Like the deer in the forest, when Ronan startled them. For a moment, Ronan almost thought he might bolt, but the moment passed, and then Parrish was simply looking at him with those eyes of his.

“Come on,” Ronan said, before he could think better of it. “It’s too dusty in here, I’m getting a headache. You can finish this later.”

Parrish peered up at him from where he knelt next to a stack of books, confusion clear on his face. “Come where?”

Ronan motioned vaguely towards the window. “You haven’t been outside at all yet, have you? You should see the grounds.” He didn’t really know what he was saying. He’d gotten himself into this somehow - inviting Parrish on a walk, or a tour, or something - and now he would simply have to push his way through. He’d feel even sillier if he changed his mind now.

For a moment longer, Parrish looked at him. Ronan wondered what it was that he saw, what it was that made him finally nod and say, “I suppose a bit of sun would be nice.”

Ronan tried not to let that feel like a victory.

He lead Parrish out of doors, onto the grounds of the estate. Of course, ‘grounds’ was a rather undescriptive term for what was actually hundreds of acres of hills, forest, meadows, and various outbuildings. It was far too much for an actual tour, especially since the reason Parrish had come was to attempt to find some imaginary tomb Gansey was obsessed with. Even Ronan didn’t know half of what was on their lands, and he more than anyone had spent his youth exploring.

Instead, Ronan kept to the general area of the house.

It was strange, even unsettling, to see things through Parrish’s eyes. The herb garden and flower garden Aurora had kept, now overgrown and wild. The small orchard in disarray, fallen fruit left to rot on the ground. The stables, falling apart.

Ronan had forgotten that it was this bad. No - he hadn’t forgotten. It just hadn’t mattered before. No one came here but the cook, Ronan had not had another guest for months. Not since Declan and Matthew had come to visit, not since they’d fought terribly. Not since Ronan had begun to send the servants away.

“Perhaps you should hire a groundskeeper,” was all Parrish said, though when he walked through the overgrown herb garden there was a certain speculative light in his eyes. Ronan wondered if he was seeing it as he’d seen the library - as something he could fix. 

It was not an unpleasant thought. Parrish’s long fingers in the soil, coaxing green sprouts from the earth, his eyes intent.

Ronan looked away, banishing the thought from his mind. Perhaps he had been alone too long.

“I’ll get around to the gardens eventually,” he said. He considered, for a moment, then came to a decision. “This way.”

Parrish didn’t question him this time, but simply followed. Ronan lead him past the stables, through a stand of trees, to the first and closest of the barns. Only partly visible from the house, none of the work he’d done could be seen until they neared it.

Parrish paused, looking at the barn. Ronan felt - vulnerable for a moment, as if Parrish’s opinion mattered, when of course it didn’t. He crossed his arms, scowling, as if the barn itself had offended him.

“You did this?” Parrish said, and walked closer. He stepped around the piles of wood on the ground, leaning in to inspect the new wood of the walls.

“The barn was there already,” Ronan said, gruff and reluctant. “I’m fixing it.”

“You’re doing a lot more than that,” Parrish said, and when he looked at Ronan now, it was with something else in his eyes. Evaluation, perhaps. Or even respect. As if Ronan had changed from _strange noble hermit_ into something else entirely.

Ronan tried not to be gratified by that. He failed.

In truth, Parrish was right. He was doing far more than simply fixing the broken-down barn. He was making something wholly new, built on the bones of what had once been there. He’d cut the wood himself, placed the beams, done all the work almost singlehandedly - only hiring help from the village when he absolutely needed to, when there was a task that needed more than one man. When he lacked energy for the large tasks, when he felt aimless and angry, he set himself to small creative ones instead.

The lintels of the barn door were carved all around with his creations, animals and plants and other, odder things. The doors were half-decorated as well, with intricate patterns, sharp thorns, strange swirls.

No one else had yet seen these creations. Parrish was the first.

He knelt down on the ground near where the half-finished doors lay, reaching out to trace a curl. Ronan watched his fingers move.

“Incredible,” Parrish said, so quietly that Ronan did not think he was meant to have heard it.

He didn’t know what had driven him to show Parrish this. Instinct, perhaps. An innate desire to have his work admired. A need to know that his terrible first impression was not permanent. The intense attraction he’d felt from the first moment he saw the man. All of those things, and more.

“I’m going to do them all, in time,” Ronan said. He’d never said it aloud before. He knew the state that the house was in, the grounds were in. He knew it was impossible, really, to do it alone. But even so, he wanted to. He wanted to restore this place to what it had once been, and to make it more. To make it his.

Parrish looked up at him from where he knelt, and smiled. “That will be beautiful.”

It was then, in the face of Parrish’s true smile, that Ronan knew he was lost.


	3. Chapter 3

After seeing the strange beauty of his art, Adam could not help but see Ronan Lynch differently. He was not suited for society, brash and unwelcoming and difficult, completely unlike the smoothly civilized members of the upper class Adam was used to moving among. But he was talented, determined, and intriguing in a way that made it hard for Adam to keep his thoughts off the man.

He was handsome, of course. Ridiculously so, like a villain out of a romance story with his sharp features and his brilliantly blue eyes. His physical labor had sculpted him in a way that made Adam a bit jealous, knowing that his years as Gansey’s secretary with little more than occasional hikes had lost him most of the muscle he’d gained growing up.

Adam had to admit, however, that jealousy was not the main part of what he felt.

It was not the first time he had desired a man. Though Adam’s life - busy and dedicated to studying, to an attempt to rise above his roots - had never had much time for romance, he had still had the freedom to look, to appreciate the sweet smile of a beautiful woman or the broad shoulders of a handsome man. However, for all his looking, he had rarely acted upon his attractions. There was no time - for Adam Parrish, striving to climb higher than he should, there was never the time or the safety.

But Adam was a clever man, an observant one, and he already had the creeping suspicion that the mysterious Lynch might be something impossible to simply appreciate from afar. 

It was dangerous, thinking like that, because what if he was wrong? The damage to his own reputation, such as it was, would be catastrophic if Lynch chose to spread a tale of a mere secretary throwing himself at him. Lynch was a landed lord, a man of means, high above a lowly secretary like Adam. It would be scandalous for him to indulge Adam’s interest, rather than the attentions of a man of his own rank. 

And if Lynch should be offended, Adam could lose so much that he’d worked for. Lynch had been Gansey’s friend first, after all, and though Adam could not believe that Gansey would turn him out because of a failed affair, it would blemish his reputation. Both of theirs.

But would Lynch really do something like that? Would he _want_ to?

Adam didn’t think he was imagining the lingering looks he sometimes caught the man in. He didn’t think he was imagining how, though Lynch did not lurk around constantly, he never seemed able to leave Adam alone for the whole day. He _knew_ it was odd that Lynch had begun to take some meals with him, instructing the cook to set the table instead of simply leaving him to find his own food. He knew it because the cook had said so.

“He must quite like you,” she’d said in her familiar country accent when Adam had remarked on their meal of the night before. “He hasn’t had the table set in weeks.”

It was still strange, not the act expected from a gentleman - because, of course, Adam was _not_ a gentleman. He’d taken many meals with Gansey before, and even a few of Gansey’s closer friends (and once with his sister, which had been terrifying), but it was not at all the norm for a man of Ronan Lynch’s station to eat alongside a man of Adam’s.

Lynch did not seem to care. He did not even seem to notice the difference in their stations, instead treating Adam like a genuine guest. Like something more than that, perhaps, but Adam did not want to give himself false hope.

He didn’t know what he wanted. Or rather, he did, but he wasn’t sure he could have it.

Regardless of Adam’s confused feelings about Ronan Lynch, however, his days here were proving to be productive. He’d gotten the library nearly in order, and found a few interesting clues to Gansey’s legend, though the weather had so far not been pleasant enough to go searching. In that, he’d managed no more than a few quick walks near the house itself, barely venturing out to the edge of the fields. He needed to explore the hills, but the threat of rain kept him close.

If he were being entirely honest with himself, Adam could not say he minded that. He was here for a reason, and if he proved he could not find what he was looking for, he would have to leave. If he did find it, Gansey would come, and while Adam was looking forward to seeing his friend again, he could not help but want a little more time without him.

To see what might unfold.

This day had dawned rather sunny, however, and Adam peered out his bedroom window. Perhaps it was time for a more adventurous expedition, despite his hemming and hawing. He did have a job to do, and if there was one thing Adam had never been, it was a shirker. Not even for a pair of interestingly muscled arms and an attractive glower.

He’d found a document mentioning an old grave up in the hills, and while there was very little information beyond that, it was something to work with. He put on his sturdiest boots (not difficult when two pair was all he owned) and packed a bag with whatever he could find in the kitchen: cold chicken from the previous night’s meal, cheese, bread. Then he paused and considered his options.

He could do this alone. It would be wise to leave a note, in case he encountered some sort of mishap, but the hills were unlikely to be terribly dangerous. The idea of a day spent walking with only his own thoughts was not particularly appealing, however, especially when he knew what his thoughts would be circling around.

Before he could second-guess himself, before he could change his mind, Adam slung the pack over his shoulder and went looking for the lord of the estate.

He found Ronan in the grass next to the pair of doors he’d shown Adam, carving something into the wood. For a moment, Adam simply watched him, watched the careful steadiness of his hands and the intent look on his face. 

Just from looking at the man, Adam would not have guessed he would have the soul of an artist, but it was impossible not to see it now. He was not one of the dilettantes in the city who came to Gansey hoping for his favor and patronage, but something else. Somewhere inside Ronan was a gift that created beautiful things without any care for what the world might think.

He was handsome, yes, but he was more than that, too. Adam could see the danger in every movement Ronan made, but he was not sure he could keep himself from being drawn in regardless. He was already thinking of the man by his Christian name, a piece of over-familiarity even if it only ever remained in Adam’s mind.

When Ronan raised his chisel from the wood, Adam cleared his throat. Ronan looked up, eyes catching on the pack over Adam’s shoulder easily.

“Going out to look for Gansey’s nonsense?” he asked, managing to convey with his tone of voice how silly he thought it was.

“I was planning to,” Adam said. “I thought I’d see if you wanted to come along. I might get lost, otherwise.” He kept his voice light, easy.

“You might get lost with me, too. Even I don’t know every bit of this place.” But Ronan was standing now, putting his tools away, brushing wood shavings off his clothing. As usual, it was plainly-made and not kept in good order. He looked more like the groundskeeper than the lord of the estate.

Adam looked away before he could be caught staring. “Better than getting lost alone. Besides, I could use the company.”

Ronan snorted. “I don’t hear that a lot.” But, though Adam had initially found him difficult to read, he was starting to pick up on Ronan’s mannerisms. Ronan was pleased, he thought.

They set off into the hills. The air tasted fresh, the sun warmed them quickly, and for a while Adam could see why people loved the country. It had held so many unpleasant memories for him - his childhood had not been this sort of thing, idyllic and peaceful and perfect. He’d always thought he’d spend the rest of his life in the city, and he knew he probably would, but this - 

He could see the appeal, and it wasn’t all the man next to him.

Adam did not love the city, not really. Not the way some did. But then, he’d never imagined loving a _place_. The city was where he had needed to go to make something of himself, and then it became where he needed to stay to do his job. He had become someone different there, someone anonymous. Not poor Adam, son of the town drunk, but someone whose past could not be known at a glance.

He had been content with what he had. But here, with the crisp clean air in his lungs and the soft grass beneath his feet, he felt a sharp pang of something that was not contentment.

This was a place someone could love. 

His eyes flickered to Ronan, only to catch Ronan looking at him as well. 

Ronan looked away, and Adam tried not to be disappointed. “Dick’s been obsessed with this stuff since we were in school. I can’t believe he’s managed to get you interested too.”

“He pays my salary,” Adam said, “so I’ll be interested in whatever he wants me to be interested in.” That was somewhat unfair, of course. It was true that Adam had no interest in ancient kings before taking his post as Gansey’s secretary, but it was impossible to know the man and not be caught up by his passion, his keen interest, his charisma. Despite Adam’s dismissive words, he did care about Gansey’s quest, because it was Gansey’s.

A glance at Ronan, and he caught Ronan’s eyes on him. There was an amused quirk to his lips, and Adam smiled despite himself. Ronan knew, and he knew, that it was about more than a salary.

“Well, it’s good he’s found you, then. Not everyone will put up with his obsessions, but Gansey’s always seemed to have a knack for picking up strays who’ll humor him.”

Adam prickled at that. He could not help it. “I’m not some lost pet he adopted. I’ve worked all my life to get where I am.” Years of toil, barely surviving his father, barely getting out of that village, staying up all night to study because he needed to work during the day to pay school fees. It was true that being Gansey’s secretary should have been out of reach for someone like Adam, born of the lowest sort of family, but it hadn’t been given to him. He’d fought so hard to be in a position where he could reply to an advertisement placed for a secretary, placed by the son of one of the most powerful families in London.

Ronan didn’t know any of that, but that didn’t mean Adam would allow him to diminish it.

But Ronan didn’t respond to his retort with anger, or with what Adam probably deserved - a reminder that he, as the son of the Lynch family, was far above Adam and always would be. Instead he only shrugged and said, “I wasn’t only talking about you.”

Adam fell silent.

If asked before coming here, he would never have dreamed of calling Lord Ronan Lynch a ‘stray’. But this grand house in the countryside, nearly abandoned, with a lord who sent away his servants and seemed to have no friends - the only letters that had arrived since Adam came were from Gansey, for the both of them - had changed his perspective.

He did not know Ronan’s story. By rights, it wasn’t his to know. But Ronan had never treated him like anything but an equal, a guest. And the truth was that Adam was intensely curious about Ronan, about who he was, what he wanted, what had brought him here.

Adam was not in the habit of asking about anyone’s secrets, having had so many of his own. But Ronan was the one who’d opened the subject, and the simple truth of the matter was that he could not resist trying to learn more.

They had walked in silence for some minutes before he finally spoke.

“Why did you send your servants away?”

The silence after Adam’s question stretched long enough that he didn’t think it would be answered. That was fine, he thought, because silence was better than the anger that could easily follow a question like that. He was overstepping, that was certain.

But then Ronan did answer, and Adam felt a strange rush of something like victory, like pleasure, at knowing that Ronan was willing to talk to him. It was a foolish feeling, but he seemed to be feeling foolish around this man regularly.

“I wanted to be alone,” Ronan said, brows drawing down. He looked out over the hills, not at Adam. “And they were all Declan’s people.”

There was a lot unsaid. Adam didn’t know Declan Lynch, but he knew of him, as did many people. He and Gansey attended the same parties and dinners, when Gansey attended parties and dinners, which was far less often than the amount of invitations he received. Adam knew of Declan Lynch the same way he knew of all the upper-crust noblemen who moved in Gansey’s circles but weren’t exactly his friends - by reputation only.

He was charming, well-regarded, loved by the ladies of their circles but proper enough to never be considered unseemly. He was the perfect gentleman, and so incredibly different from his brother that Adam could almost not believe in their connection. But it was true, of course, because the Lynch family had three sons: Declan, charming and popular and now the earl, Matthew, young and well-beloved, and Ronan, who Adam had heard nothing of before arriving here. Nothing but what Gansey had told him.

Because Ronan was not spoken of in the city. If he had been gossiped about, it was past now, pushed out of people’s minds by the constant cycle of scandal and secrets that the rich and highborn amused themselves with. Adam regretted, now, that he had not tried to learn more about Ronan before coming here. No doubt there was quite a bit to be known, if only he had tried.

But maybe this was better. He couldn’t trust what the nobles and their servants would whisper about someone like Ronan. He himself had not thought the best, after all, and Ronan was far more than that.

“He likes to meddle in your business?” Adam asked. This was a delicate topic, he knew, but his mind was starting to work, and he needed to know more.

“He wants me to be like him,” Ronan said, nearly spitting the words out, as if they tasted wrong on his tongue. “He chose the servants here, and he asked them to keep an eye on me. He thought I couldn’t take care of myself, that I drank too much, that I acted foolishly. That I would embarrass him.”

“So you sent them away,” Adam said. 

“Not immediately,” Ronan said. There was another long silence, before he sighed gruffly and rubbed a hand through his close-shorn hair. “I hate the bastard, but he wasn’t wrong. I was - unwell, after the death of our father. I drank, I fought, I raced. He gave me this place to get me out of the city.”

Away from the poor influences there - Adam was smart enough to read the subtext. His eyes were on Ronan. He felt the delicacy of the moment, the impossibility of this man opening up to him. But here they were, nothing touched by human hand anywhere in sight. Only the trees, the hills, the sky. Only them.

Adam felt like he could say anything, too, and it would never go further than Ronan Lynch.

“We grew up here, all of us, but I loved it most of all. So I came here. I thought I might be coming to die. Melodramatic bullshit - I spent a few months stinking drunk and almost fell down a well. I realized that would be a stupid fucking way to die, plus proving Declan and all those assholes back in the city right. So,” Ronan shrugged, like it was nothing, though he still didn’t look at Adam. “I got my shit straight. It took awhile. I still drink sometimes, I still wouldn’t mind a fight. But I’m not fucking dying anytime soon.”

He looked at Adam then, finally. The look in his eyes - Adam knew, then, that he hadn’t said this to anyone before. He didn’t know why Ronan was telling him - why now, why here, why him - but he could not look away.

“I sent the servants away after that. They were reporting everything back to him, and I can’t be under someone’s thumb anymore. I didn’t want them here. I didn’t want anyone here that I don’t trust.”

They had stopped walking. Adam looked at Ronan, at the sharp line of his jaw, his long eyelashes, his steady gaze. He thought of what he could say.

_Do you want me here? Do you trust me? Or did you only allow me because of Gansey?_

There was doubt in his heart, but there had been doubt in his heart for days. Every time he looked at Ronan, every time they spoke, there was a part of him that wanted to say something foolish, do something dangerous. Adam had never felt this before, this flame that kept wanting to flicker to life.

Ronan’s eyes seemed to be resting on his lips.

“I’m going to keep living, and I’m going to make this place mine. All mine.”

“I think it already is,” Adam said, and Ronan’s eyes met his.

The moment stretched and broke, and then Ronan leaned in and pressed his lips to Adam’s.

Adam had never been kissed by a man before, but that wasn’t what he thought about. He didn’t think about anything - he couldn’t think about anything. This was what he had wanted, what he had not believed could happen. Despite everything, despite Ronan’s lingering looks, despite his truths, Adam had not believed in this until Ronan’s lips were on his.

And then there was nothing he could do but return the kiss.

Ronan’s mouth was warm and hungry, more aggressive than the gentle, coquettish kisses Adam had coaxed from girls in the past. He kissed like he knew what he wanted, like he knew Adam was what he wanted, and he had no reason to hide or pretend otherwise.

Adam could do nothing but let himself enjoy it, kiss Ronan back, feel it all down to his toes.

When Ronan finally pulled away, he looked at Adam, and for the first time Adam saw uncertainty in his eyes. Which was foolish, really, because Adam had done nothing but respond with fervor.

He reached out and caught Ronan’s collar, pulling him down to kiss him again, to kiss him until that uncertainty was gone.

It was nothing like anything before, and Adam knew it was because of this man. It was because of Ronan Lynch, impossible and frightening and honest and all that he knew he should have stayed away from.

But now he couldn’t regret it. Not for a moment.

They found no grave that day, though Adam couldn’t be sure whether that was because there was none or because they were simply too distracted by each other. Even after they’d separated, it seemed impossible to keep from looking at Ronan’s lips, incredibly difficult to stop himself from reaching out. He managed - barely - but only because he promised himself there could be more.

He knew, from the way Ronan looked at him, that there would be.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is explicit content in this part! Happy slightly belated birthday, Adam Parrish.

It still felt strange to have the table laid, to eat at it like the member of high society he was supposed to be. Ronan had become accustomed to eating in his rooms, or sometimes out by the barn he was working on, or wherever he desired. It felt odd - overly civilized - to sit at a table with polished cutlery and dishes spread across a fine tablecloth. It held fractured memories of dinners with his parents, his brothers.

Oh, it wasn’t the same. Not really. The tablecloth was not so very fine, the table settings were somewhat haphazard. Mrs. Hudgins was an excellent cook and always had been, but she wasn’t trained for this sort of thing. Once, Ronan had servants to do it all for him, and now he had only her. Luckily, she seemed pleased by the thought that he was making some sort of stab at being civilized again, and so she was willing to do her best. 

It suited Ronan well enough. It was strange, really. He had not entirely understood what his home had become until Adam had arrived, until he began to see the place through Adam’s eyes. Adam Parrish, who had recently lived in the Ganseys’ impeccable household, surely thought this place a complete disaster.

Part of Ronan bristled at the thought, but another part of him - the one that was beginning to think he had nothing left to prove, that he might be able to find something like contentment in his life - understood it.

He’d loved this place all his life. The forest, the rolling hills, the caves and clearings he’d discovered as a child. He’d spent the first few years of his life there, and even after his parents had judged them all old enough to live at their flat in the city they’d returned here for summers and holidays. To Ronan, this had always been the place he’d thought of as home.

But now there were broken windows, dust everywhere, his belongings and evidence of his occasional anger scattered around the place. The library had been a mess until Adam set it to rights, and Ronan knew that many of the other rooms were in similar condition, still untouched.

He did not know how to begin restoring the home he had once known. This, these dinners, felt like the first stab at that.

And, of course, there was Adam.

The dinners were a transparent ruse to spend time with him. Adam had his duties, his research, and Ronan had his own diversions to occupy his time. This - taking meals together - had seemed like a good excuse to speak with Adam, to see him, to do ridiculously commonplace things like talk about their days.

Never mind that Ronan was sometimes distracted by the elegant way Adam held his fork. Never mind that he could find himself caught in the sight of Adam’s lips pressed against his water glass, the movement of his throat while he swallowed. Never mind that ‘talking about their days’ often turned into trading clever barbs, something Adam was much better at, or exchanging ridiculous stories.

Never mind that the sight of Adam Parrish smiling at him across the table was the highlight of his day.

And now?

Now Ronan felt oddly nervous.

No. It wasn’t odd. They had kissed - he had kissed Adam, out among the hills, and Adam had kissed him back. He had thrown his fears to the wind, put caution aside, and did the one thing he’d wanted since he first saw Adam Parrish. The one thing that could have destroyed everything.

And it didn’t. And Adam had kissed him back.

And now he was sitting here at the table, as Mrs. Hudgins laid out soup and bread and a hearty country meal, wondering what he could say to Adam now. Wondering how things had changed.

When they’d finally returned to the house, Adam had disappeared to wash up. Until that moment, everything had seemed clear and perfect, and Ronan had felt like he knew what to do. Then, with Adam out of sight, he had begun to question everything.

Some of it was entirely foolish. The doubt most of all - Adam had kissed him back with fervor, had initiated another kiss, had smiled at him like the sun coming out from behind clouds. He’d wanted it, wanted Ronan, and the dark clouds of doubt could not change that.

But the rest of it wasn’t, and especially one single question.

_What happens now?_

Briefly, Ronan wished that he had been even more dissolute back in the city, when he’d been doing idiotic things. He’d raced, he’d drunk, he’d fought. He’d eyed boys, thought about it, wanted it, but somehow his religion or his upbringing or his common sense had kept him from acting upon it. It was one thing to be yelled at for getting blackout drunk at a party his brother had thrown, it was something else entirely to cause a scandal based on a love affair with another careless lord’s son.

Even Ronan back then hadn’t been foolish enough to think he could have a relationship with any of the boys who’d turned his head. Not those careless, destructive boys, devoted to their own pleasure and nothing else. And even then, he would not have wanted to settle for less.

But now things were different, and now he didn’t know what to do. Now Adam was here, and Adam had kissed him, and possibilities were unfolding.

But he didn’t know what he should do next.

It was stupid to feel nervous, and he was angry at himself for it, but it seemed to be something he couldn’t control. For the first time in a very long time, he was feeling a sharp glimmer of unexpected hope, brought to life by the light in Adam’s eyes and the press of his lips. Over the years, Ronan felt he had perfected the art of destroying things, and now he feared that somehow he would destroy this before it had even begun.

Then Adam walked in, and his worries seemed impossibly stupid.

Adam smiled at him, and sat, and they ate and talked. It was easy and perfect, the way it had been in nights past, the way that somehow seemed uniquely possible with Adam.

That wasn’t entirely true. Ronan had had friends before, good ones who he could trust and talk with. Gansey, for one. But since he’d come here, he’d entertained few visitors - had even refused Gansey’s visits, had refused everything except the ones he couldn’t. The ones from his brothers.

So this sort of easy, unforced conversation felt foreign to Ronan now. It felt strange and new to be able to banter with Adam Parrish. It was not in Ronan’s nature to watch his words, it never had been, and that did not seem like such a terrible flaw. Adam had been spikier at first, more guarded, but from the very beginning he hadn’t let Ronan push him around, no matter the difference in their stations. He’d parried words with words, showing a sharp tongue that Ronan was sure he hadn’t learned as Gansey’s secretary. It must be natural, that quick intellect, that ability to push back against Ronan’s contrary nature.

Now, weeks since Adam’s arrival, they had settled into a rhythm. Ronan knew which subjects would truly get under Adam’s skin, and never stumbled onto them by accident - though, true to his nature, he would sometimes broach them deliberately. Adam had long since abandoned his careful manners, the politeness and caution he must have cultivated for his position, the sort of thing he must use when talking to other gentlemen. He treated Ronan like an equal, instead, not hesitating to rebuke him when necessary and tease him when desired.

Ronan could not remember the last time he had enjoyed spending time with someone so much. His school days perhaps, before his father had died, those bright sunny days full of Matthew and Gansey and their school friends, before everything had gone wrong. 

He wasn’t that boy anymore, he never would be again. And this felt different.

Even now, when he vividly remembered what Adam’s lips had felt like against his own, he could lose himself in the ebb and flow of their conversation, the periods of silence that didn’t feel heavy, the easy resumption of dropped topics.

They spoke of what they’d found in the hills (nothing, though it had given Adam ideas on further research), an old letter Adam had found in the library (probably nothing, but possibly a clue), the meal itself (delicious), what Ronan planned to work on the next day (there was a fence that needed fixing).

That caught Adam’s attention, it seemed, and he pressed the point with a raised eyebrow. “You know, you can hire someone to do that sort of thing for you.”

“I like doing it myself,” Ronan said, which was the truth, though not all of it. It made him think of their conversations about the servants earlier, the truths he’d told Adam. It made him think of the way he’d begun to see the estate with new eyes, realizing how far it had fallen. How far he had let it fall.

He did like doing that sort of thing himself. He liked the simple satisfaction of physical labor, of fixing something like a broken fence. Of building something like the barn, creating, making the place his own.

But he could not do it all himself. It was simply impossible in an estate of this size. The fence that needed fixing was only one of many, and when he had turned the servants away he’d sold most of the livestock, too. There had been no one to care for them, after all, and it had been what needed to happen at the time - what _he_ had needed to happen.

He allowed some of the nearby villagers to use some of his fields, but he missed looking out at the hills and seeing his own sheep, his own cows. He missed when the estate had been half working farm. He missed when it had felt like a home, rather than a refuge. None of that was something he could accomplish alone, and suddenly it was what he wanted.

Maybe it wasn’t sudden. Maybe it was inevitable, with Adam Parrish here.

He kept his attention fixed on his wine glass. He had always been uncomfortable with words at times like these, and he did not know how to ask. He did not know if Adam would be insulted by it.

“I’ve been thinking of hiring a few people to work the estate,” he said, clearing his throat with a rough sound. “But I don’t want Declan’s people back here.”

Adam was silent, looking at him, and so Ronan was forced to continue. He scowled, unpleased, but forced the words out.

“I don’t know where to look for people I can trust.”

It wasn’t quite a question. It wasn’t quite a request. But Adam, clever and quick, figured out what Ronan was really saying almost immediately. Though Ronan had feared he would take offense, instead he was treated to a speculative gleam in Adam’s eyes, a faint curl of his lips as he smiled.

It was a lovely sight.

“I think I might know a few who might suit. If nothing else, I have a trusted friend who I can ask - she’ll be able to recommend honest folk in need of a position. Especially if you don’t need them to be experienced.”

Ronan nodded, one decisive movement. He didn’t give a shit about having servants who knew how to wait on dukes and princes, who knew exactly which table linen was appropriate for which guest and the exact angle of the correct bow. If anything, he’d rather they didn’t - Ronan had always thought that sort of thing was idiotic nonsense.

“Send them word, then.” He didn’t think he needed to provide further direction than that. Adam likely knew better than he what the household needed. If it were left to Ronan, well - he’d put it off, like he had until now, and things would get worse. Or he’d forget to hire someone necessary, and only realize far too late.

Leaving this in Adam’s hands felt like one of the smarter ideas Ronan had recently conceived of, and the pleased look on Adam’s face only assured him of that.

They finished their dinner, and Mrs. Hudgins collected the dishes. She was efficient, completely trustworthy, and she’d been the cook there since Ronan was a child. Abruptly, he realized how much work he’d placed on her shoulders. There should be other servants in the kitchen, washing dishes and cleaning, and someone else serving the meals. Instead, she was doing it all.

He would fix that. Well, Adam would fix that, assisted by Ronan’s money.

As Ronan began to stand, meaning to take himself out of the dining room and out of her way, Adam reached out. He placed a hand on Ronan’s, and Ronan froze at the touch. Adam’s fingers pressed against the back of his hand, barely there, but every molecule of Ronan’s attention was on them. “Will you be up late tonight?”

Ronan’s pulse raced, whether because of the touch or the question, he wasn’t sure. “I’m not planning on going to bed immediately, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I thought we might have a drink together,” Adam said, and there was a faint hint of something - cautiousness? Implication? - in his tone that told Ronan it was unlikely a drink was all he was thinking of. Or maybe that was only Ronan’s hope, but he wanted to believe it, and when Adam smiled at him he felt almost sure.

“I didn’t think you were much for drinking,” Ronan said. He had not seen Adam do more than take a few polite sips of wine during dinner on the nights Mrs. Hudgins ventured toward the finer sorts of meals.

“It depends on the company.”

Ronan was not sure Adam intended for them to drink at all, but he couldn’t tell. Briefly, he felt a flash of anger, of frustration. Subtlety was necessary, of course, but Ronan was no good at it. He wished the cook was gone, that they were alone, that he could be as direct as he wanted to be.

She would be soon. The thought was a balm to his temper, and he grinned at Adam, a quick flash of teeth that was rewarded by a faint tinge of red staining Adam’s ears. 

“I’ll make sure the company is worth it.”

They retired to a sitting room, the only one in the manor that was really useable. But the furniture was comfortable, if a bit dusty, and Ronan set a fire blazing in the hearth that warmed the whole room. Adam retrieved a bottle of brandy from the cabinet there, also a bit dusty but certainly drinkable, and poured them glasses.

Ronan slouched on the sofa, watching him. Sometimes when Adam moved he was tense, careful, cautious, but over the weeks he’d been there some of that tension seemed to melt away. It still cropped up sometimes, especially when he was uncomfortable or nervous, but the rest of the time he seemed - different.

Ronan flattered himself by thinking that perhaps Adam had found he could drop some of his defenses, perhaps he knew that nothing here was a threat to him - not physically, not socially. Here, he could simply be who he was, and no one would judge him for it.

He wanted to believe that. He wanted Adam to feel the same way about this place that he did.

Adam brought him a glass of brandy, then moved to sit in one of the large armchairs scattered around the room.

“Sit here,” Ronan said, because after all, he’d chosen the sofa for the pleasure of being able to sit next to Adam. The armchairs could not seat two, though the thought of trying - the thought of Adam on his lap, the length of his body pressed to Ronan’s - was deliciously distracting.

Adam did not need to be asked twice. He smiled, a flicker of beauty, and sat with Ronan on the sofa. 

Close. Close enough that Ronan could nearly feel the warmth of his body, could touch him with no effort at all. He restrained himself and watched as Adam took a sip of the brandy.

He was straight-faced, but for just a moment there was a curl of distaste on the corner of his lips. Ronan laughed. He couldn’t help himself, even though it earned him a scowl from Adam.

“You really don’t like drinking,” Ronan said.

“I enjoy it well enough,” Adam said, stuffily proper, attempting to look down his nose at Ronan. It worked, despite the inches of height Ronan had on him. Ronan wondered if that was natural or learned, and reflected that it was wasted on him. Rather than being chastened, it sent a sharp spark of attraction and desire right through him. Though, if he were being honest, quite a few of Adam’s mannerisms did that.

Restraint seemed foolish now. He had not known how these things went, _still_ did not know how they were supposed to go, but it suddenly didn’t matter anymore. The memory of Adam’s lips on his was vivid, the reality only a breath away.

He reached out and took Adam’s brandy glass from him. Adam let him, and watched as Ronan set both glasses on the end table. Then he turned back to Adam, reached out once more to tangle his fingers in Adam’s hair, the soft strands mussed under his fingers, and pulled him in for a kiss.

Adam’s mouth was as delicious as it had been earlier that day. He tasted faintly of brandy, which Ronan did not mind at all, and he kissed like he’d been waiting for it for hours. Like they both had been.

There in that warm room, the fire crackling on the hearth, it felt like they had all the time in the world. They kissed, and kissed again, and Ronan memorized each movement. The way Adam pressed against him more and more, until they were both nearly draped across the arm of the sofa. The slide of Adam’s tongue against his. The soft, pleased sounds Adam made when Ronan kissed his neck, the gasp of pain or pleasure or both when Ronan nipped at his skin.

They were both dressed casually after their walk through the hills, which made it easy for Adam to tug Ronan’s shirt away from his skin. He fumbled with the buttons, distracted by Ronan’s hands beneath his own shirt, and when he was finally able to push the shirt off Ronan’s shoulders the look of triumph on his face made Ronan laugh aloud.

“Quiet, you ungrateful lout,” Adam said, but he was smiling, and he leaned in to kiss Ronan again. It began soft and sweet, but heat curled in Ronan’s stomach as their kiss grew deeper, filthier. His trousers were beginning to feel uncomfortably tight, and when Adam shifted against him, he knew he wasn’t the only one.

Adam pressed kisses to his skin, exploring, and the heat between them built. He was almost scientific about it, Adam to the core, taking his time and appearing to note every spot where Ronan enjoyed being touched, being kissed. When he slid his pink tongue over Ronan’s nipple, Ronan could not stop himself from pressing up against Adam, though it only made him harder.

Raising his head, Adam watched Ronan, looking for any sign of discomfort. He was flushed, hair in disarray from Ronan’s hands, lips red from Ronan’s kisses. A love bite was developing on his neck in just the place where Ronan had discovered he could coax delightful noises from Adam if he bit.

Adam’s hand, now, was on the fastening of Ronan’s trousers. Ronan’s entire body felt warm, his heart aflame.

“Is it too soon?” Adam said, breathless. Ronan wondered if he was supposed to say yes. He had absolutely no desire to.

Instead he reached out, pushed Adam’s shirt from his shoulders, wanting skin against skin. He wanted to find out every spot on Adam Parrish’s body that would make him moan, he wanted to discover what Adam dreamed of and bring it to life.

But they would have time for that. Right now, his need was too great to be ignored. It had never been said that Ronan Lynch had an abundance of self-control.

“You going to back out now, Parrish?” Ronan said, annoyed to find that he was nearly as breathless as Adam. Adam flashed him that smile again, the one that Ronan had been unable to ignore from the beginning.

Instead of responding, he untied Ronan’s trousers, getting them out of the way, freeing his cock from the constricting layers of fabric. He paused for a moment when Ronan was bare before him, and Ronan had a brief flash of nerves - would now be the moment that Adam decided this was too much? Now, when he could not ignore that Ronan was most certainly a man?

But that was foolish. There was not a person on this Earth who would mistake Ronan for anything else, and Adam Parrish - a genius probably, in Ronan’s estimation - knew exactly what he was getting into.

He licked his palm and wrapped his hand around Ronan’s shaft, already a bit slick from his excitement. The touch of Adam’s hand was incredible, his long fingers and careful grip so different from Ronan’s own. 

If Ronan were being honest, he had imagined Adam’s hand on him before. The reality of it was so much more.

“Fuck,” he swore softly, and then all he could do was groan as Adam began to move his hand, careful and precise movements that served to send pleasure rocketing through Ronan. It was so much, almost too much, and he had to pull Adam in for a hard kiss.

“You too,” he managed to growl out, and Adam needed no more encouragement than that.

He let go of Ronan long enough to push his own clothing out of the way, down around his hips, enough to free his cock. And Ronan was biased, perhaps, but he couldn’t look away. Adam Parrish was beautiful, he’d known that already, but to see him like this - nearly naked, tanned skin and slim body on full display, his cock hard and eager between his legs - was something Ronan would never forget.

Then Adam slid atop Ronan again and took them both in hand. Ronan could feel the slide of Adam’s cock against his own, Adam’s hand around them both, and he slipped his arm around Adam’s waist to steady him.

It was all he could do. Adam only seemed able to keep slightly more control of himself as he began to stroke them. The carefulness and precision of earlier slipped away quickly as Adam’s breathing got heavy, as soft cries began to pass his lips. Ronan could focus on nothing else, think about nothing else, only this: Adam’s body against his, Adam’s pleasure cresting, the sound of his name on Adam’s lips.

He came hard, spilling across his belly, at nearly the same moment Adam did. He had the advantage of the sofa arm at his back - Adam had nothing but Ronan to lean against, and so he did, nearly collapsing atop Ronan, breath coming hard.

They lay there for awhile. Ronan collected the pieces of his mind, fearing he would never be able to think straight again. Adam caught his breath, his body warm on Ronan’s. Not too heavy. Ronan thought he could sleep like this easily, he could gather Adam against him and close his eyes and -

Wake up sticky and unpleasant, probably.

Adam seemed to be having the same thought. He sighed, a long reluctant thing, and sat up. When he met Ronan’s eyes, there was a moment of uncertainty, as if he didn’t know how Ronan would react.

Ronan thought of earlier, of wondering if that was the moment Adam would decide he didn’t want this. The expression on Adam’s face was a mirror of it.

Maybe not such a genius, then.

Ronan reached up and brushed a thumb across Adam’s fine cheekbone. An affectionate gesture, a sweet one, the sort of thing he would not normally allow himself.

But he could do it now. And so he did.

Adam smiled, any tension leaving his shoulders, and leaned in to press a sweet kiss to Ronan’s lips.

That night he stayed in Ronan’s bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of misery, but don't worry. Also, more explicit content in this chapter!

The next morning, and the mornings after that, were a revelation. Adam had never really imagined that he could have something like this - waking up next to someone he cared for, who cared for him in return. But after that first night, Adam found himself in Ronan’s bed more often than not. He still kept his things in his own room, but the lure of sleeping next to Ronan was too much to be denied.

They took meals together, spent their days working on their respective projects - Gansey’s research for Adam, Ronan’s artistic and mysterious repairs - and spent the evenings together. Mrs. Hudgins said nothing, but Adam had no doubt she’d noticed their new closeness. He knew from his own experience that servants noticed everything, and the best of them said nothing.

He didn’t mind. He didn’t think Ronan did, either. Whatever this was, whatever it could be, right now it felt perfect.

A few days after it had begun, after another night spent in Ronan’s luxurious bed exploring each other, finding out the best way to make Ronan moan his name, Adam was at work in the library.

He liked it there - it was one of the few places in the house that was in order, mainly due to his own efforts. The windows were at the perfect angle to catch the morning light, and Adam had everything he needed easily within his reach. Ronan joined him there for tea sometimes, and often Adam could look out the window and see him at work. 

He seemed more focused now, determined, inspired. Adam found that incredibly attractive.

That morning, he strode into the library with a sheaf of papers under one arm and a cup of coffee in his hand. He set the coffee on the desk Adam was using - a bit of cream and sugar, just the way Adam liked it - and leaned down to curl his hand around the back of Adam’s head and drag him in.

Adam allowed himself to be quite thoroughly kissed. He allowed himself to enjoy it, too, warmth unfurling in his chest.

This whole thing was foolish, and he knew it, but he couldn’t quite make himself care.

When Ronan pulled away, they were both flushed, and Adam briefly considered abandoning his work to conduct an experiment based on how long it would take to convince Ronan to bend him over the desk. It was an idle fantasy, though one he thought he would probably return to.

Ronan set down the sheaf of papers, which miraculously hadn’t been scattered by their intimacy.

“These are the accounts,” he said, and Adam watch a scowl of discomfort cross his face and then be pushed away. “They’re probably a royal fucking mess. But - what we talked about the other day. Use whatever you need.” Ronan shrugged and looked away, and Adam swallowed a hint of amusement at how uncomfortable Ronan was talking about things like _hiring servants_ and _taking care of his household_. 

He was an odd creature: born to money and privilege, but more content fixing a fence than throwing garden parties. Adam could not even properly imagine Ronan at the sort of garden parties Gansey had often attended. He thought it would probably end in tears and scandal, and some part of him found the idea delightful.

“I’ll take care of it,” Adam said, and Ronan lifted his hand, pressing a kiss to Adam’s fingers before leaving. The odd affection of the gesture hit Adam harder than anything else, and he had to take a moment to quiet his overexcited heart.

He went through the papers. Inventories, receipts, a summary of the budget Ronan was supplied by his family for upkeep. They weren’t actually that much of a mess, though Ronan certainly had a laissez-faire approach to accounting. Adam quickly discovered that Ronan lived well below his means, spending only the bare minimum on taxes and supplies for daily life. He had more than enough income to support the amount of servants a place like this would need - more than enough to live a far more luxurious life.

Even now, Adam felt the faint prick of resentment. He had never had that, had spent most of his life worried about money. Even after securing his position as Gansey’s secretary, a position that was honestly rather overpaid, he was careful. He saved most of his money and lived frugally.

But what was he saving for? Even he wasn’t sure anymore. He was saving against fear, really, saving against the idea that at any moment he could lose everything he had worked for. But realistically that would never happen. Though Adam was technically an employee, he and Gansey were close enough to be true friends - he would never be turned out on the streets. Even if somehow that happened, the prestige of working as a secretary to the Ganseys should secure him a position anywhere.

Still there was always a part of Adam that feared the next blow. He wondered what it was like to live like Gansey, never a thought for the money spent on expensive manuscripts and historical artifacts. Or Ronan, letting a beautiful estate slowly fall to ruin because he simply didn’t care to do what was necessary to keep it running well.

But that was unfair. Ronan had told Adam his reasons, his conflict with his brother. Adam, of all people, was well-positioned to understand that family could be incredibly complicated. And now, after all, Ronan wanted to change things.

Wanted _Adam_ to help do it.

And so he did.

He tallied up the accounts, worked out proper wages for the servants the house would need, and wrote a letter to Blue. Adam knew a few people right for the job, and wrote to them as well, but she’d always had more connections than him - she would know more. She would know who to pick, as well, discreet and likely odd individuals who would fit right in here.

She would also be amused, he knew, to see how far he’d fallen. His initial letter to her on the subject of Ronan Lynch, sent not long after he arrived, had been somewhat harsh. Perhaps even uncharitable. But now - well, now Adam was sure he would deserve every ounce of mockery she might direct his way.

He tried not to think about how this could all end, but he was Adam Parrish, and he could not avoid it.

Ronan was a lord, this place was his estate. Adam was a secretary, not even employed by Ronan but by someone else entirely. Adam could not stay here indefinitely. He was here for a reason, to perform an investigation into his true master’s interests. He would return to the city eventually, leave Ronan, leave this place.

Even if none of that had been true, Adam could still be nothing but a distraction for a man like Ronan. A pleasant diversion far below his own class, not an acceptable partner for commitment. Adam already knew Ronan was not the sort to play, not the sort to treat Adam as if he did not have value, but that didn’t change the facts.

Adam could not stay. Ronan could not make promises that would not be untrue.

So Adam would enjoy it while he could - every moment of it - and he would leave Ronan with what he needed: loyal servants ready to keep his home running, to put it in order. People to make this place beautiful but no less wild, just like its master.

Adam swallowed his fear, the pit in his belly that grew when he thought about the inevitable truth that was returning to the city, leaving Ronan. He put pen to paper, finishing his letter to Blue, detailing what the house and grounds needed and leaving it to her to pick the right people for the tasks.

Then he took note of the money that would likely be spent, organized Ronan’s papers, and turned to his own work - or rather Gansey’s. It was becoming more and more clear that the gravesite Gansey was searching for was only a myth.

Weeks ago, just after he’d arrived, Adam would have found that reassuring. Now he found himself finding reasons to look harder, do more research, anything that might draw out his time here.

Blue would call him a fool, and he was. A dalliance with a lord was one thing - though not the sort of thing Adam had ever considered, much less done, before - but this? The way he felt, the excuses he was making to stay near Ronan for as long as he could?

If that was not foolishness, Adam didn’t know the meaning of the term.

A glance out the window showed sunlight and blue sky and Ronan Lynch fixing the fence they’d spoken of not so long ago. Adam allowed himself the indulgence of watching.

Ronan was too far away for the small details - the way his brows drew down when he concentrated, the play of muscle in his arms as he raised the hammer. But Adam could admire the long, lean line of his body, the quiet concentration in his posture, the sure way he moved. 

There were a lot of things about Ronan to admire.

Though Adam got a bit more work done - poring over an old set of journals written by a Lynch ancestor - his concentration was slipping. Between the sight of Ronan out in the sun and the knowledge of the inevitable end to this idyll, it was extremely difficult to pay proper attention to what was turning out to be mainly a dry treatise on sheep breeding.

He tried for a while longer, just to say he had, then sighed and gave in to temptation.

There would be servants there soon. For only a week or so longer they would have the place to themselves. They would have to be more careful then - an affair here would not cause scandal and gossip the way it might in the city, but it wouldn’t reflect well on Ronan if word got out that he was indulging himself with someone of Adam’s class.

So they needed to make the most of their time. Or so Adam told himself so he would feel less lax about leaving his work and going out into the sunlight to find Ronan.

Besides, he’d taken off his shirt while Adam was watching him from the window. It was impossible to keep from giving in to such provocation.

He raised his head as Adam approached, the slightest of smiles crossing his thin lips. 

“Your concentration seems to be slipping these days.”

Adam didn’t grace that with a response. It was Ronan’s fault, after all, and so he stepped in close and trailed his fingers down Ronan’s arm, right there in the open. Though he’d been spending his nights in Ronan’s bed, his days not far from his side, it was still a thrill to be allowed to touch him. Ronan was not welcoming, was not ingratiating or easy to get close to. 

But then, neither was Adam. And he welcomed each and every one of Ronan’s attempts at intimacy.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” Adam wasn’t quite thinking what he said through, but if pressed, he would have said it was a pretext, a reason to get Ronan’s attention on him instead of the repairs he was doing, an excuse. Of course he didn’t particularly _want_ to go for a walk.

And Ronan, curse his ability to read Adam, knew it. His slight smile widened into a grin - no, that was definitely a smirk. He caught Adam’s hand, pulled it to his lips, and kissed his fingers one by one.

“A walk?” he said, and the amusement in his tone held an undercurrent of danger, something that would have set Adam aback once upon a time. Back when they’d only just met.

Now it set him aflame.

“Or not,” Adam said, his eyes on Ronan’s lips.

“Inside?” 

It was an invitation, not a question, but Adam felt the sun on his skin, heard no sounds but the birds in the trees, and said: “No.”

Something sparked in Ronan’s eyes. He tugged at Adam’s hand, and Adam stepped forward. “Here?”

Instead of responding, Adam leaned in and kissed him.

He felt Ronan’s hand curl against his back, pressing them together. Ronan’s lips were on his, hungry but oddly gentle, taking and giving in equal measure.

Adam had never done something like this before, had never dreamed of it - outside, under the open sky, where anyone could see. But they were alone, for now, and so no one would see, and he wanted to. He wanted this with Ronan, he wanted everything with Ronan, he wanted to emblazon himself on Ronan’s mind, on his heart, so that even when Adam was gone Ronan wouldn’t forget.

It was a selfish impulse, but Adam knew he had always been a selfish person. In the end, he wanted to leave Ronan as changed as he knew Ronan would leave him.

Adam wore a waistcoat and shirt, reasonably dressed even when no one who mattered would see him, but before long they were on the ground, and shortly after that so were they. The grass was warm from the sun, as was Ronan’s body. The ground was uncomfortable, a little - rocks and dirt beneath the soft grass - but it didn’t seem to matter when Ronan was pressed against him.

And he was, his hands exploring Adam’s body, touching all the spots he’d learned could make Adam moan and shiver. Ronan, for all his seeming carelessness, was a fast learner when he wanted to be - and it seemed he wanted to be. He had Adam’s trousers undone in moments, dragging them down his body, until it was all soft grass against exposed skin and Ronan above him.

He settled between Adam’s legs, hands on his thighs, and leaned down to take Adam in his mouth. 

Already half-hard, Adam had to raise a hand to stifle his cry - but Ronan reached up, almost without looking, and caught it. 

“I want to hear you,” he said, and nipped Adam’s thigh, making him yelp. “Like that.”

Adam scowled at him, but there was no heat behind it - and Ronan knew that, damn him again. He grinned, sharp and lusty, and bent down again to suck Adam.

Ronan was hungry, relentless, unpracticed but no less intense for it. More, perhaps. He had Adam hard as a rock in minutes, moaning, fingers digging into the grass in a useless effort to ground himself. The wet heat of Ronan’s mouth was too much, so much, and it was almost embarrassing how little time elapsed before Adam was crying out and arching, panting “Ronan, Ronan _please_ ”, the only form of warning he could manage.

But Ronan didn’t pull away, he only swallowed Adam down to the root, and when Adam came he swallowed that, too.

Adam lay on the grass, panting, trying to recover his scattered thoughts. Ronan hadn’t even taken off his own trousers - that was how quickly Adam had come undone.

“Let me,” he said, reaching for Ronan, but Ronan leaned in to kiss him instead.

“No.” He nipped at Adam’s collarbone, slid a hand under Adam’s thigh, tugging it upwards. He was still between Adam’s legs, and so Adam spread them wider, raising his hips. “Yeah - like that -”

Ronan was hard in his trousers, Adam could see that well enough, and though he couldn’t quite believe it, he himself was already feeling the stirrings of desire again. His body wasn’t quite ready for it, but his mind - it was impossible to look at Ronan like that and not want him.

Ronan fumbled his trousers open and down around his hips, wrapping one hand around himself. The other went to his mouth, coating his fingers with spit before he reached down to press one inside Adam.

It should have been more painful, without the oil they’d left in Ronan’s room, but they took their time. With the edge of Adam’s pleasure relieved, he didn’t urge Ronan along - and Ronan proved to have startling self-control, something Adam had never really attributed to him before.

He took his time opening Adam up, slicking his fingers with his spit and Adam’s own come, and it was much more arousing than Adam would have expected. The slowness, the care that Ronan took, the way he held himself back despite it being increasingly obvious that it took an effort. He didn’t push Adam’s legs higher, didn’t press into him, until Adam was moaning again, hard and pressing down onto his fingers, wanting more.

Then Ronan was swearing, soft and low and dirty, as he fucked into Adam. It was almost too much, so soon after the pleasures of Ronan’s mouth, but Adam wanted it so badly. He loved the way Ronan filled him, the almost-pain of it, the pleasure that rocked through him when Ronan’s cock hit just the right spot. He loved the look on Ronan’s face, the intensity of it, the slow loss of control until all he could do was groan and thrust into Adam.

He couldn’t think of anything but this, but Ronan, every spot their bodies touched, every sound Ronan made, the sheer pleasure of this existence, and then Adam came again, and Ronan came inside him, and it was everything.

After, they lay on the grass together, letting the sun warm their skin. It wasn’t entirely comfortable, small rocks digging into Adam’s back and the evidence of their pleasure drying on his skin, but he still didn’t want it to end. 

This, what they had now - it _would_ end, Adam knew, but he wanted to hold on to every moment he could before facing that truth. To Ronan, next to him, his arm pressed against Adam’s and their fingers tangled together. To the pleasant ache in his body, the sated lassitude of Ronan’s. The grass beneath them, the unrepaired fence next to them, the empty and beautiful estate.

For a few moments, Adam could pretend that he belonged here.

For a handful of more weeks, that was what he did.

He worked on Gansey’s research, of course. He didn’t think the grave could be found, as the location had been lost long ago, but he was able to dig up a few more references to it in very old family letters and records. He went walking in the hills with Ronan again, ostensibly to look for it, but Ronan was far too adept at distracting him. He discovered nothing of note on these walks except that Ronan made especially delightful noises when Adam bit a trail up his inner thigh.

Valuable knowledge, but not exactly relevant to his job.

But even while working on Gansey’s project, he was able to push the simple truth of his eventual departure to the back of his mind. He was able to enjoy what he had: the quiet mornings in the library, sifting through papers and enjoying the sunlight from the window. Evenings with Ronan, eating dinner together and retiring to Ronan’s room, Adam spending less and less time in his own. Afternoons outside, sometimes still working, sometimes walking alone or with Ronan, sometimes simply keeping Ronan company as he worked.

Because it was perfect, it couldn’t last.

The new servants began to arrive - exactly what Adam had asked for, exactly what Ronan wanted. No one who expected to serve in a proper lord’s home, but simply folk who needed work, who could be trusted. Half-trained housemaids and a groom for the stables, farmhands to get the fields in shape, a handyman to help with repairs.

Ronan had already indicated his desire that they go to Adam for general instruction, rather than him. He didn’t have the temperament for the smaller details, and Adam didn’t mind taking care of them. Not when it meant, selfishly, that he could leave his mark on this place. That there would be a part of him here even when he was gone.

It wasn’t the servants that brought it to an end. They were discreet, not remarking on the nights Adam spent in Ronan’s room - at least not to him. But then, it wasn’t so terribly remarkable. Ronan was the lord of the manor, could enjoy himself with whoever he wished, and though Adam was far below the social status acceptable for a formal, public relationship, the scandal of a fling with someone else’s servant was minor at best.

Adam watched the property slowly begin to be restored. There would always be a wildness to it - that was what Ronan wanted, what Adam wanted, what all the servants knew was needed. But repairs were made, restorations performed. Adam could see what it would look like one day soon, this beautiful country estate surrounded by rolling hills and dense forest.

But he knew, when one of the new servants delivered him a letter from Gansey, that he wouldn’t see it.

It read as he expected, as he’d expected for some weeks now. Gansey calling him back, telling him that he was needed, that there was little point in continuing to pursue what seemed to clearly be a dead end. The words seemed almost meaningless as Adam read them, because in the end they only said one thing: his time with Ronan had ended.

They had both known it was coming. When Adam told Ronan, over dinner that night, he wasn’t sure what he expected - wasn’t sure what he wanted. A fanciful part wondered if Ronan might ask him to stay, to give up his position with Gansey. What would he say then? What would he do?

But that wasn’t what happened. Instead Ronan went still, looked down at his half-empty plate, and nodded.

And that was all.

Adam told himself it was foolish to feel any kind of disappointment. After all, Ronan had not asked him, but he also had not offered. Adam had a life back in the city, a position he’d worked for all his life, and the idea of giving that up -

He pushed the thought from his mind without acknowledging how appealing it was. The truth was, they had made no vows to each other. They had known from the beginning that this could not last. To throw away his future, everything he had hoped for, in order to beg Ronan to allow him to stay?

No. Adam couldn’t do that.

He reached out to place his hand on Ronan’s arm, to offer a quiet evening together, a last night. But Ronan did not allow it. He jerked his arm away before Adam could touch him, stood, and left the room without saying anything.

It stung, a harsh sudden pain. That immediate shutdown, that retreat. He should have anticipated it, but part of Adam wanted to stand, to follow Ronan, to demand _something_ from him - a declaration of feeling, an apology, one last perfect night. 

But he didn’t. He had nothing to offer Ronan, not really. He was a secretary who had grown up in a poor country town, leagues below Ronan’s own social station. He did not have the right to demand anything of Ronan, no matter how the lines had blurred here - no matter how much he had felt himself to be Ronan’s equal.

He didn’t even know what he would have said.

Ronan did not speak to him again. Adam made a halting attempt to say goodbye the next day, after a cold night alone in bed, but Ronan simply drew his brows down and did not respond, and Adam had to walk away before he exploded in anger - or worse, sadness.

When he loaded his things into the carriage, the only one there to see him off was Mrs. Hudgins.

“He is sorry to see you go,” she said, quiet and kind, and Adam found it hard to look her in the eye.

“Give him my thanks for allowing me to stay this long,” was all he could say in reply.

Up until the moment the carriage set off, part of Adam thought that Ronan might appear again. Might say goodbye, at least, if not any of the more impossible things Adam had imagined in the dark of night (offers to accompany him, offers to stay, declarations of love).

But all Adam saw was the quick twitch of curtains at one of the upper windows, a movement that could have been nothing more than a servant cleaning.

He tried not to look back as they left, but inevitably, he failed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an epilogue after this!

The house was fuller than it had been in years, but without Adam it felt empty.

Ronan tried to ignore it. He tried to not care, he tried to hold on to the anger he’d felt at Adam’s sudden departure. It wasn’t fair, that anger, and he knew it but it was easier to feel that than the loss.

Of course Adam had left. He was always going to leave. His home was in the city, at Gansey’s side, and this had always been a temporary affair.

Ronan tried to resent Gansey, too, but that had always been a losing proposition. They saw each other rarely now, but Gansey had always been one of his dearest friends, one of the only people who’d stuck by him through thick and thin. He’d disapproved of Ronan’s choices, but never abandoned him even so. It was not his fault that Adam’s loyalty belonged to him, that it had since the beginning. That he had found Adam first.

It wasn’t a surprise, not really. Gansey had always had a talent for finding impossible treasures.

Adam had left detailed instructions for the new servants, because of course he had. It was an adjustment, having all these people in his home, even though realistically Ronan knew it wasn’t that many. Houses of that size usually had far more - Adam had engaged the minimum possible to keep it running smoothly, knowing that Ronan would not want more than absolutely necessary.

Because of course he had.

And what was even worse was that, if Ronan had to have servants, these were exactly the sort that he would have wished for. They were discreet but efficient, they did not attempt to befriend him but also did not seem to fear him. They simply treated him with respect, but seemed to care more about the state of the house and the grounds than the state of the master.

So he was left to his own devices, except when they needed instruction, and that was when Ronan most wished Adam was there. It wasn’t that he knew what Ronan needed better than he did, it was that he was better at expressing it - better at clearly communicating what needed to be done and making people understand him. Ronan did his best, but he missed that, the ease of it, the quiet competence with which Adam did everything.

No, that wasn’t true. Of course not. The moments when Ronan most wished Adam was there were in the dark of night, alone in his cold bed. He would think of Adam’s mouth, the pen calluses on his beautiful fingers, the sleepy way he stretched in the mornings. His long limbs against Ronan’s own, the way they sometimes awoke tangled in each other.

That, and his missing presence at the dinner table. The way his lips would press together when Ronan said something outrageous in what Ronan had initially thought was disapproval but which had in fact turned out to be amusement. The way he ate quickly but seemed to savor every bite of food, the way he always thanked the cook for the meal. His ability to talk back to Ronan in a way few ever did, not letting him get away with anything.

It was being unable to look up at the window of the library and see him looking down.

The stupidity of it all frustrated him. Adam had not been there for long - a mere couple of months. Ronan’s life had gone along fine before him, and it should be continuing along well enough without him.

But of course, that wasn’t true, either. Ronan had been slowly recovering his life, before, but he hadn’t been truly living. He had been missing something, and he hadn’t even realized it until Adam Parrish had come into his life and made a home there.

And now here he was, with his childhood home being steadily restored, his lands returning to their once-perfect wild beauty, and no frustratingly distracting secretary to be seen.

Somehow, it did not feel worth it.

Adam had left. Adam had always been going to leave eventually. It should not have been a surprise.

Even so, when Adam had told him, he had given into his worst impulses. He’d allowed the pain and disappointment to take over, he’d wasted their last night together. He hadn’t even said goodbye.

At the time, he had been unable to do anything else. At the time, it had been that or explode.

Now, Ronan wished - he wished he had at least said goodbye.

He wished that he had had the courage to ask Adam to stay, but Adam would surely have said no. They had talked about his work with Gansey, what it had taken to find that position, how he valued Gansey’s friendship as much as the work itself. Against that, what was a brief affair with a minor lord? He did not even have a title, as that had gone to Declan - he had these lands, his wealth, nothing else.

Not that any of that would have mattered to Adam anyway. He wasn’t like those hangers-on, those men and women searching for the best way to improve their status. He was a secretary, uninterested in social climbing. 

Realistically, he was far below Ronan’s position. He could imagine exactly what Declan would have said if he’d asked Adam to stay - just as he could imagine the difficulties it would pose for Adam. Ronan had not thought seriously about the difference in their class, not out here, so far from the city, but just because he hadn’t thought about it didn’t mean it didn’t exist.

He was sure that Adam had thought about it.

It didn’t matter. He was gone.

Ronan went about his days as he normally would have. He tried to ignore the parts that had changed because of Adam, but it was difficult, because everything had changed because of Adam. 

He started taking breakfast in his rooms again, because it was not nearly as entertaining without Adam across the table from him. He didn’t do the same with supper, though - the new kitchen staff were working hard, and though Ronan would not say so aloud, they deserved to have their work appreciated.

Still, the dining room felt empty. He supposed this was why so many of his class seemed to have endless streams of visitors, to have someone to talk to over their meals, to stay up late drinking and laughing and - whatever else. But that had never been Ronan’s way. 

There were few he wanted to spend his time with, and it seemed they were all in the city now.

Curse Gansey, anyway, for sending Adam to him. And curse him for taking Adam away.

It was no one thing that changed Ronan’s mind. It was no dramatic moment, no bracing talking-to from a trusted friend. It was a million grains of sand, spilling into the bottom of an hourglass, filling it until the outcome was inevitable.

It was the emptiness of the library, still organized in Adam’s particular way. It was the rooms that had been his, meticulously cleaned so even the sheets no longer carried his scent. It was trying to remember exactly what to instruct the servants, and knowing that Adam would not have needed to ask. It was the letter Gansey sent, telling him that Adam had returned safely and thanking him for being a gracious host.

He had not been a gracious host, but he knew that Adam had said he was. And, somehow, Gansey had believed him.

It was the letter Adam sent, arriving weeks after he had left. It was spare, carefully worded, a perfect expression of gratitude for Ronan being his host. At the end: _Thank you for the memories you have given me._

Innocent. Innocuous. But they had made so many memories together that weren’t.

And so Ronan did the only thing that he could. He packed a bag, readied a horse, and left his servants with instructions. They were moderately scandalized that he was not taking a carriage, to which he replied that he did not have one - and was rebuked by one of his new stableboys, who had unearthed a rather expensive phaeton from one of the carriagehouses Ronan had been sure held nothing but junk.

It had belonged to his father. Ronan recognized it on sight. It needed work - a new paint job, some minor repairs - but it would do well enough.

He thanked the boy with an extra coin, harnessed his horse to the carriage, and headed to the city.

It had been a long time since Ronan had been in the city. He’d had no intention of returning, despite Declan’s occasional attempts to browbeat him into it, despite Matthew’s much more charming attempts to convince him to visit.

But now he was going, and he once he was on his way, he didn’t look back.

The journey took some time. Ronan lived as far away from supposed civilization as he could, after all, though now he was regretting that a bit. It only gave him time to think, which was not what he wanted.

He hadn’t thought before he left. He’d simply decided, then packed his things and set out to make good upon his decision. Now that he had time to think, he could not stop himself from thinking of all that could go wrong.

He could not stop himself from realizing that he didn’t really have a plan here. He barely had a decision, even - simply the desire, the need to have Adam back in his life.

The journey to the city was both too long and not long enough. He had more than enough time to toss and turn in the rustic inns he stayed in, thinking of every terrible outcome, and not nearly enough time to come up with a plan.

It didn’t help that Ronan had never been the planning sort. That was something he’d preferred to leave to others - Gansey when he was in school, or the cleverer of the idiots he got into trouble with. Declan, when he had no other options.

Adam.

But now he had no one to turn to and nothing but an unformed wish.

By the time he steered his phaeton into the city, he had still not come up with a foolproof plan. He had still not even decided what the goal of his foolproof plan should be. He was a mess.

But he had not touched a drop of alcohol the entire journey there. He had not really even considered it. It would only have slowed him down.

The city was everything he hated. Crowded, loud, smelly. Too many people shouting to each other and filling the streets with their carriages - far more in fashion than his, but mostly of lesser quality - and getting in his way.

Ronan considered finding a room, but discarded the idea. He had not come up with any sort of plan the whole way there, and another night was unlikely to change that. 

Besides, he had come to see Adam. And now he was here, and in this teeming, unpleasant mass of humanity there was one singular Adam Parrish, and Ronan wanted to see his face.

Once he had done that, perhaps he would know what else he should do.

So he rode directly to Gansey’s.

Gansey lived in a small but well-appointed townhouse. It was not, of course, the main home of the Gansey family within the city - that was on the other side of town, not far from Declan’s townhouse, where the rich lived pressed close together to make it easier to show off to one another.

No, Gansey’s home was exactly where he wanted it to be: near the national museum, not far from a library, in a part of the city that was decidedly lower-class than his family would prefer. Not actually low class, of course - Ronan wasn’t sure Gansey had ever set foot in a place that would actually be considered low class - but this area was mostly populated by merchants and shopkeepers. People who earned their money, rather than being born into it.

Not that Ronan knew what that was like. Not that he had ever really cared. But Gansey had always been fascinated by that sort of thing, which was likely why he’d made friends with his secretary instead of treating him like an employee.

Or maybe that was just part of the mystery of Adam Parrish. After all, Ronan had not been able to treat him like an employee, either.

There was a stable not far from Gansey’s townhouse, and Ronan paid to have his horse and phaeton seen to. Not knowing how long he would be there, he overpaid, then set off through the streets to Gansey’s door.

There, he hesitated. There had still been no dawning certainty, no decision about what he would say, what he would do. If he knocked on the door, and Adam opened it, what then?

But Ronan had never been one for dwelling on possibilities. He was, had always been, the sort of man who acted first. Sometimes that lead to regret (often, really). Sometimes it didn’t.

So he knocked on the door.

Adam did not answer it. Neither did Gansey. Instead, a servant he’d never seen before opened the door. She was short and dressed very oddly for a servant, in a mishmash of styles and colors that was rather interesting, if unpleasant to the eye and very much not in fashion. She scowled at Ronan, which Ronan realized was not common for a servant. He took no offense, but scowled back at her.

“Is Gansey in?”

It was Adam he was really looking for, but he did not know how to ask that. 

“Who are you?” she said.

“Who are _you_?” he responded, beginning to get the feeling that she may not be what he’d thought she was. Gansey’s servants were usually unobtrusive and efficient, a pair of words that described Adam perfectly without even remotely coming close to who he actually was. This girl was neither of those things, and rude on top of it.

“Blue Sargent,” she said, crossing her arms and drawing herself up to her full height, which was still considerably shorter than his own. Somehow she managed to make it seem as if height did not matter at all. “My mother has a shop down the street.”

That was even more confusing. “And so you… answer Gansey’s door for him?” He put enough condescending doubt into his voice that for a moment he thought she might spit at him. It was very entertaining.

“I was on my way out,” she said. “I thought I would let you in while I did so. Now I don’t think I will at all.” She began to close the door in his face, which Ronan knew he deserved.

“Ronan!” 

It was Gansey, of course. This was his home, so Ronan should not have been surprised. His face was open, delighted. Blue, sour-faced, paused her door closing at the sound of Gansey’s clear welcome.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Gansey said, ushering Ronan in. “You should have written. How wonderful to see you!”

“Your new tiny doorman doesn’t seem to agree,” Ronan said, enjoying the way Blue’s eyebrows scrunched in annoyance.

“Oh,” said Gansey, and the way he said it set off all of Ronan’s alarm bells. “This is Jane -”

“ _Blue_ ,” the girl corrected, and Ronan assumed there was some kind of story there, only he really didn’t care enough to find out.

“ - she came by to help out while Adam was away. And, well, she’s been around a bit since then, too.” Gansey faltered then, apparently without an explanation for why she was spending time at his home despite her presence no longer being required.

Ronan rolled his eyes. It was clear enough to him in that moment - the way Gansey looked at her, the way she looked back. How like Gansey to fall for a shopkeeper’s daughter, far below his station.

Not that Ronan could criticize. He found himself watching the hallway behind Gansey, as if Adam might appear at any moment. And it wasn’t such an odd thought. Adam was Gansey’s secretary, after all, he was likely within the townhouse somewhere - unless he was out on an errand. Suddenly, that seemed very likely, as the commotion of Ronan’s arrival had not drawn him out. Surely it would have, if he had been there.

It was foolish, the way Ronan felt his hopes deflate. But he had wanted to see Adam’s face again, the brush of his hair against his ears, the way he tilted his head just so.

“In any case,” Gansey said, brushing past the brief moment of awkwardness brought on by his inability to explain why a strange girl was so comfortable in his home, “I’m delighted to see you! How long are you in the city? Are you visiting your brothers?”

He wouldn’t mind seeing Matthew again, but the thought of visiting Declan wasn’t worth entertaining. “I came to see Parrish.”

There was a silence then as Gansey blinked at him. Blue’s surprise was evident as well, but it faded almost immediately, changing to a speculative look. She was sharp, it seemed, and Ronan avoided her gaze.

“He didn’t say that you were coming,” Gansey said, hesitant, trying to feel out the situation.

“I didn’t tell him I was,” Ronan said, though now he was beginning to wonder if he ought to have told _someone_.

Gansey did not seem to know how to respond to that, but Blue stood up straighter. “So why are you here, then? Do you think he took something from you? Did you part on bad terms?” It did not seem that she really believed either of those possibilities. It felt more like she was trying to draw something out, like perhaps she had guessed his true reason.

But Ronan had not really known his true reason, not until he said it aloud. “I came to ask him to come back with me.”

There was silence in the hall. And then, from behind Ronan, from the open door, came Adam Parrish’s voice.

“What?”

Ronan turned, and there he was.

It had only been a few weeks. It should not have felt like an eternity since he’d seen Adam’s face.

There was some part of him, hidden away and never looked upon in his sudden journey to the city, that had feared his feelings were false. There was some part of him that had believed it was possible that he was remembering his days with Adam through a rose-tinted filter, that it had all seemed more perfect because it was fleeting, and when he saw Adam in person again the magic that laced through every memory of Adam’s touch, of his hands in the light, would be gone.

That part of him had been a fool.

Adam’s hair was messy, as if he’d been rushing. His cheeks were flushed, whether from exertion or surprise, Ronan didn’t know. His blue eyes settled on Ronan, wide, and Ronan was not sure what he saw in him. Shock? Disbelief? Uncertainty?

He thought, for a moment, that it might be happiness.

“Adam,” Gansey exclaimed, and Adam’s gaze was pulled from Ronan to his employer.

“The bookseller had the manuscript you ordered,” Adam said, his voice faint. He held a wrapped package, no doubt a copy of some ancient tome that Gansey thought would contain one of the many secrets he was always searching for.

They stood there in the hall. Ronan did not know what to say, now that his reason for coming had tumbled off his tongue before he really knew it himself. Now that his reason for coming was right in front of him. And Adam only looked at him, impossible to read.

“Um,” Gansey said, clearly at a loss. Blue’s eyes flickered between all of them, and then - clearly the most sensible of the lot - she took action.

“Gansey, why don’t you take that to your study and have a look at it? You’ve been waiting for weeks. We’ll give Adam and your tall rude friend the drawing room. For a bit of privacy.”

She plucked the manuscript from Adam’s hands and placed it in Gansey’s, then briskly ushered him further into the townhouse. He allowed himself to be lead, with one confused look back at Ronan and Adam, still standing in the hall.

This seemed to jostle Adam from his frozen state. He shut the door to the street behind him, cleared his throat, and said, “Follow me.”

There was a room just off the hall, clearly meant for visitors. It was decorated in Gansey’s usual style of eclectic comfort, pieces decades out of date but still beautiful, but it was in the sort of perfect order that Ronan didn’t expect from any room Gansey spent much time in. He barely noticed more than that before Adam stole his attention away again.

“What are you doing here?”

He looked at Adam, his wide eyes, his searching look, the way the light fell across his face. He didn’t know what he’d expected from this trip. Maybe he didn’t expect anything. Maybe it was just something he needed to do, to know that what he felt was real.

He knew it now.

“You heard me,” Ronan said. “I want you to come back with me.”

Adam turned away then, crossing his arms. His brows came down, mind already working furiously. Ronan knew it, had seen it so many times before. Some part of him had impressed the image on his heart, and now he would never be free of this. 

“You can’t show up out of nowhere and ask that,” Adam said. “I don’t even know where to begin a list of all the reasons you can’t.”

Ronan shrugged. He’d never much cared for ‘can’t’, and he knew Adam knew that.

“Why do you even want me to come back?” Adam asked, turning toward Ronan again, his movements awkward. Like he didn’t know where to stand, like he wanted to look at Ronan but feared what might happen if he did.

Adam was a genius, but he could be remarkably stupid.

“Because I’m in love with you,” Ronan said.

There was a quick indrawn breath, and then Adam did look at him. He was frozen, eyes on Ronan, as if it was some kind of shock. 

Ronan did not think it ought to be such a surprise. More of a surprise would have been not loving Adam, letting him go, letting his departure from Ronan’s country estate be the end of things. Letting it be a brief affair, a happy memory, nothing more.

It was not in Ronan’s nature to do things like that. He had thought it might be - after all, everyone else seemed to manage it easily enough - but maybe there was something fundamentally different about him. Or maybe it was simply Adam Parrish, who had walked into his life so easily and given him a reason to _try_.

He knew what someone like Declan or even Gansey would say. That there would be others, that Adam might be special and beautiful and worthy of being loved but that didn’t mean he was the only one. But Ronan didn’t care. He’d never cared about things like that. He knew what he felt, and he was not interested in pretending otherwise.

“If you don’t feel the same, that’s fine.” It wasn’t, but Ronan would recover. Eventually. “But I have not stopped thinking of you since you left. Come back with me.”

“It - isn’t that I don’t feel the same.” Adam’s voice was quiet, hesitant, and he said those words as if he feared they might turn on him. It was not quite an admission - not quite - and yet Ronan felt a surge of happiness anyway. “It’s that - I can’t just leave. This is my life. I’ve worked so hard to get here.”

He gestured around himself at the room they were in, the casual luxury of it. “I grew up with nothing, and I should have stayed there. No one else ever got out, no one even seemed to want to. But I did, and I made it here. I _earned_ this.”

Ronan didn’t know what to say to that. Adam had told him bits of his past in the dark of night while they lay in each others arms. He couldn’t understand what it was like to grow up feeling that way - unwanted, afraid, desiring desperately to prove yourself. He couldn’t know what it felt like to claw yourself up from that.

But he had seen the weight lift off Adam’s shoulders while they were together. It had happened slowly, so slowly, but Ronan knew it wasn’t wrong to believe that Adam had been happy with him. That here, now, in the city, the weight had returned to those thin shoulders.

“This is what I wanted, all that time. And now I have it. I can’t walk away, no matter how I might feel about you.” There was more steel in Adam’s words now, as if he had convinced himself, as if he’d pushed his hesitation away. Ronan liked the sound of it, even if he didn’t like the decision Adam had come to.

“It’s what you wanted then. Is it what you want now?” He had seen Adam’s smiles, his quiet confidence growing. How easily and competently he’d made decisions about the estate, the lands, the servants. Was it like that here? Ronan couldn’t know, but he didn’t think so. “You want to stay here and work for Gansey for the rest of your life?”

Adam bristled at that. “And what’s the alternative? Leaving and working for you for the rest of my life?”

Somehow, it was not surprising that Adam had so fundamentally misunderstood him. But at that moment, Ronan realized he hadn’t been entirely clear, either, and Adam Parrish was the sort of person who would need something like this spelled out. He rolled his eyes, stepped forward, and caught Adam’s hand in his.

“Working for me? You idiot. I’m asking you to marry me.”

Adam froze. His eyes widened. His hand in Ronan’s was stiff. “What?”

“Maybe I should have lead with that.”

“You can’t be serious,” Adam said. He still hadn’t pulled his hand from Ronan’s. “You can’t marry me. I have no money, no title. My family isn’t even worth speaking of. It would be like - like a prince marrying a street-sweeper.”

“I’m no fucking prince, and you’re not a street-sweeper. I also don’t give a shit about any of that.” He knew Adam knew that. He also knew that Adam was caught up in his own mind now, thinking himself into circles, thinking of things Ronan hadn’t even considered. It was a mark of his own stupidity that he even found that endearing.

“If my father found out -”

“Your father couldn’t do shit. He couldn’t even set foot on my - our - property. He’s nothing.” Ronan said it with more venom than intended, but exactly as much as it deserved. He knew what Adam was probably thinking, that his father would try to get something, get back in Adam’s head and his life. But that was impossible, no matter what Adam might fear in this moment. He was free, had been free for a long time, and though Ronan had had nothing to do with it, he would do everything within his power to make sure it remained true.

“What about your family? Your brother would be furious.”

“Come on, Parrish. That’s half the reason I asked you.”

Adam stared at him for a moment, as if for one instant he believed Ronan, and then his composure shattered. His drawn-down brows lifted, a true smile crossing his face. It wasn’t quite enough to draw a laugh out of him, but it broke the tension, tore his mind from the paths it was following.

Ronan curled his fingers around Adam’s, and this time he felt Adam respond, answering with a gentle pressure. “If you really don’t want to, that’s fine. Say no. But I’m fucking dead serious. I want to marry you, and none of that other shit matters. I don’t care what society thinks, I especially don’t care what Declan thinks. Come back with me.”

“You’ll get sick of me,” Adam said, but Ronan could not miss how his words had changed from _would be_ to _will_. His heart surged.

“More likely that you’ll get sick of me,” Ronan said, certain that was true. “But it’s not like I’m gonna keep you prisoner. You can leave if you want, come back to the city. My family has places to stay here. Do what you want, Parrish. Just come back to me.”

“You’re incredible,” Adam said, and the soft way he said it matched the way he looked at Ronan. Ronan lifted Adam’s hand and pressed his lips to Adam’s palm, because he could do nothing else.

Adam’s fingers traced Ronan’s jaw. “What’ll I tell Gansey?”

“Tell him you got a better offer of employment. Tell him you can’t stand to read one more dusty piece of crap. Tell him you’ve found your true calling and joined the circus.” Ronan’s heart was full. He didn’t need to ask if that was a yes. His answer could be seen in Adam’s eyes.

“I’ll tell him I’ve let you lead me astray,” Adam said, and kissed him.

It was everything Ronan could possibly have wanted.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really just a smutty epilogue, there's nothing plot-important here. Thank you for sticking with me the whole way and thank you for all your comments! ♥

Ronan hadn’t wanted an engagement party, and Adam hadn’t seemed keen on the idea either, but Gansey - of all people, of course it was Gansey - insisted on it. Adam had requested that it be kept small, if they must do it, which was the only saving grace.

Not that there wasn’t some part of Ronan that wanted to show Adam off to the world. To show them what they’d missed by being so stuck up, so intent on only giving their own class the time of day. Adam was worth ten of them, probably a hundred, and Ronan would love nothing more than to shove that in the faces of all the gentlemen he knew - and their spouses.

But Adam didn’t deserve everything that would come with that, the snubs and the calculated attempts to see what they could get from him. Ronan had avoided high society all his life, and he wasn’t going to start courting it now.

Besides, the moment Declan learned of the engagement, he’d made sure Ronan knew exactly what people were saying about him. About _them_. It was all nonsense, and Adam would know that, but Ronan thought it might bother him anyway. Not that he wasn’t smart enough to know - he’d known from the beginning - but that didn’t mean he should have to actually listen to any of it.

So they had a small engagement party, just Gansey and Blue’s family, who turned out to be entirely too strange, and Ronan’s brothers. It was loud and messy and the opposite of everything Ronan had come to expect of high society, and all it took was the look on Adam’s face to make everything perfect.

The pinched disapproval on Declan’s had been nice, too. 

They were in their room now, what had been Adam’s room in Gansey’s townhouse. His things were mostly packed, ready for transport to the countryside. He didn’t have much, which didn’t surprise Ronan. He looked forward to finding excuses to give Adam gifts that he would undoubtedly find annoying, but if a man couldn’t give gifts to his own husband, who could?

Adam sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he unbuttoned his waistcoat. “That went well, I thought.”

“I especially liked when Gansey started crying,” Ronan said with a smirk. “I couldn’t whether it was because he was sad to see you go, or happy that you’d finally ‘found happiness and true love, after so many trials’.” His Gansey voice was rather higher and prissier than Gansey’s actual voice, and he could see Adam try not to laugh.

“Don’t,” Adam said, smiling. “He is my best friend, and yours too, and I’ll miss him terribly.” He drew closer, helping Ronan with his own waistcoat, though Ronan did not need help. “Besides, I think Blue will be happy to comfort him, despite her protests.”

Of course Adam, perceptive and intelligent, had noticed that. Ronan expected nothing less.

“I don’t think your brother likes me,” Adam said, folding Ronan’s waistcoat and setting it aside, not making eye contact.

“Matthew adores you,” Ronan said, though he knew that wasn’t what Adam meant. Still, it had been a high point of his day, seeing Matthew’s simple delight at meeting the man his brother was to marry. He hadn’t cared about Adam’s station or his family, he had simply welcomed him - a little too enthusiastically, if anything. Ronan had very much enjoyed the startled expression on Adam’s face the first time Matthew embraced him.

“I had no idea Lynches could turn out so sweet,” Adam said with a hint of a smile. 

Ronan caught his arm and pulled him close, wanting their eyes to meet, wanting to see him so that Adam would know he was speaking truth. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Not Declan, not anyone else. Besides, he was just angry that he was all ready to lecture me about stupid decisions - but then he met you, and he couldn’t.”

Declan hadn’t said it, and Adam didn’t know him well enough to see it, but Ronan did. Declan had stalked into the party ready to judge, ready to write this all off as another of Ronan’s stupid self-destructive decisions. But Adam Parrish had defied his assumptions, had responded to his pointed questions and comments with intelligent answers that gave Declan no leeway for disapproval. He had even managed a few clever, unexpected ripostes.

Which didn’t mean that Declan _approved_. It would be a cold day in hell before Declan openly approved of anything Ronan chose. But he could have been worse, he could have _done_ worse. Instead, when the party ended and they all said their farewells, Declan had grasped Ronan’s forearm in a gesture of cool camaraderie and said, “I really expected you to die alone. I suppose somewhere in this world there is a person for everyone.”

It was far more than Ronan had expected. He hadn’t needed Declan’s approval - still didn’t - but Adam deserved better than to be disdained by anyone, much less Declan Lynch.

“If you say so,” Adam said, and reached up to brush his fingers through the stubble on Ronan’s jaw. “Did you forget to shave this morning, or was that deliberate? You look like someone I might meet in a back alley.”

“You like it when I look like I might relieve you of your wallet,” Ronan said, because it was true.

“That wasn’t what I was thinking would happen in that back alley,” Adam said, drawing his fingers down Ronan’s neck and beginning to unbutton his shirt.

“Oh?” Ronan managed. Adam’s touch always distracted him. Adam liked to talk, sometimes, liked to whisper in Ronan’s ear while they found pleasure in each other, but it was always difficult for Ronan to achieve much more than moans. Adam simply filled all of his senses, and he had few brain cells left for speech.

“I’ll show you,” Adam said, and he pressed a kiss to Ronan’s collarbone. 

How it happened was a bit of a blur, all of Ronan’s attention on Adam’s hands and his lips and the warmth of his body, but he found himself pressed against the wall, his back against the austere wood paneling of Adam’s room. It was large and well-appointed, but still a servant’s room, and Ronan could not see it without thinking of what he would give Adam.

Open fields. A house of his own, with servants at his beck and call. Freedom, a place of safety, happiness.

Adam had made it clear since accepting Ronan’s proposal that he wasn’t certain what he provided in return, when Ronan was offering him everything. But that was how he was, of course, always weighing and measuring and accounting for things in that clockwork mind of his. To Ronan, none of that mattered. There was nothing to weigh, nothing to measure. The entirety of the Lynch fortune would not match his feelings for Adam Parrish, though he would gladly lay it all at his feet. To Ronan, Adam was giving him something unnameable, something worth immeasurably more than the money, the estate, the title.

Not that he would ever say that in those words. Ronan was a man of action, a man who had already had his fill of words. Adam would understand someday. For now it was enough that he had said yes, that he said yes again every day with his quick smiles, his presence at Ronan’s side, his quiet, amazed disbelief.

Ronan was not certain he’d believed in their engagement until tonight, until the moment Ronan took his hand at the dinner table under everyone’s gaze and said, almost angrily: “We’ll be married in the spring.”

The way Adam looked at him then, his wide eyes wondering and happy, had meant more than Ronan could say.

And now here, alone, Adam was certain in everything that he did.

His clever hands tugged at the ties of Ronan’s trousers, one pressing for a moment against the hardness within. Adam kissed him again, hungry, and then sank to his knees.

“Parrish - “ Ronan said, his voice tightening as his cock grew ever harder.

“Shh,” Adam said. “Although you can keep saying my name, if you like.”

Ronan smirked at that, because there was always such a hidden edge to Adam, and perhaps that was what Ronan liked most about him. But then Adam was untying his trousers, freeing him from the frustratingly thick cloth.

He’d wanted Adam all day. Watching him with their friends, the clever way he handled Gansey and even Declan - how could anyone see that and not want him? And now here he was, lips parting, tongue flickering out to lap at the head of Ronan’s cock.

It was just a touch, a teasing thing, but it sent a shock of pleasure straight up Ronan’s spine. He wanted nothing else in the world now, nothing but Adam’s mouth on him. He reached out, tangling his fingers in Adam’s hair, soft strands between his fingers.

Adam’s fingers wrapped around the base of his shaft. Ronan thought he could watch Adam’s hands on him for hours, but in reality it would likely be impossible for him to last anywhere near that. Adam stroked him, and Ronan groaned, letting the pleasure of it wash over him.

“You’re incredible,” Adam said, his words a puff of air against Ronan’s flushed skin. Ronan met his eyes. There was something indescribably naughty and perfect about Adam Parrish on his knees with Ronan’s hard cock in his hands. “It’s hard to believe this is all mine.” There was a hunger to his words, but more than that, a soft thoughtfulness. As if he really did find it hard to believe.

Ronan tugged at Adam’s hair, just hard enough to get his attention, and was rewarded by a caught breath, a gasp of something that wasn’t pain at all. He filed that away for later, in the part of his mind that took special note of the way Adam’s breath hitched when Ronan bit the tender skin of his inner thigh.

“Not if you keep teasing me,” Ronan said. He could hear his voice, rough with arousal. “I’ll call this engagement off right now.”

That made Adam laugh, a sound Ronan thought he’d like to hear for the rest of his life, and then Adam took Ronan in his mouth.

He knew what Ronan liked, and devoted his whole attention to it. The way Adam’s mind worked seemed incredible to Ronan, the contradictions and intensity of him, and this particular part of it paid off. Adam was perceptive, observant, and had a taste for perfection and hard work that meant he was as adept at this as he was at picking out obscure references in historical texts or knowing exactly what to ask for from servants.

They’d learned each other, those months in Ronan’s home, Adam devoted to learning what would bring them the best pleasure and Ronan devoted to savoring every moment of Adam, every inch of his skin, everything he could.

And now Adam’s lips were around his cock, his hand was fumbling at his own trousers, and Ronan could only be thankful that the walls in Gansey’s townhouse were thick. He lost himself in it, Adam’s tongue pressing against the bottom of his shaft, swirling around the tip. Adam taking him deeper, slowly, until his nose was nearly brushing the tight curls at the base of Ronan’s cock - and that was a sight he would not forget.

He could focus on nothing but Adam’s mouth on him, his fingers in Adam’s hair tightening, pulling just enough to draw a groan from those perfect lips. He let Adam set the pace, muscles tight with restraint, until Adam pulled back, letting Ronan slip from his lips.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ronan said, still as hard as he’d ever been. He wanted more, needed more.

“Yes,” Adam said, his lips slick with spit and other fluids. Ronan blinked, trying to make his thoughts make sense. 

“Stop restraining yourself,” Adam said patiently, though there was a tension to his voice that did not speak of patience. “I want you to fuck my mouth.”

The dirtiness of it, those words in Adam’s carefully well-bred accent, went straight to Ronan’s cock. He didn’t want to hurt Adam, but if this was what Adam wanted - well, it wasn’t like he was going to say no.

It wasn’t like he had the slightest desire to say no.

He tugged at Adam’s hair, and Adam opened his mouth, taking Ronan in again. Ronan went slow at first, making sure Adam could take it, that he was ready. It was sweet torture, controlling himself like that, the wet warmth of Adam’s mouth, his throat working as he took Ronan deeper. When it seemed like it was all right, like Adam was ready, Ronan began to move.

He thrust into Adam’s mouth, at first still going slowly, watching to make certain Adam wouldn’t choke. They hadn’t done this before, though they’d come close, and he knew Adam knew his own limits - but still, Ronan was prepared to stop immediately if he needed to.

He didn’t need to. Adam moaned, the vibration urging on Ronan. His trousers were open now, his hand on his own cock. Ronan could see that he was hard, that he was enjoying this.

That was all the encouragement he needed. That, and his own quickly-fraying control.

He moved in earnest, thrusting into Adam’s hungry mouth, guiding him with a hand tight in his hair and the movement of his hips. Adam’s whole body was taut, his eyes closed as he took it, his fist tugging at his cock. A bead of slick gleamed at the tip, evidence that he was close, as if his moans weren’t enough.

The sight of him like that, open and aching, handing another piece of himself to Ronan without hesitation, was beautiful. Declan had sometimes scoffed at Ronan, telling him he saw beauty in the strangest of things, but this was anything but. Adam was beautiful, and the world would agree, except that not a single one of them would ever see Adam Parrish like this.

This was Ronan’s, and Ronan’s alone.

He could not believe his luck.

He thrust in again, and once more, and he knew there was no way he could hold on any longer. “Adam -”

But of course Adam didn’t push him away, didn’t ask him to stop. He only opened his eyes, slate blue like a stormy sea, and raised them to meet Ronan’s.

Ronan groaned and gripped Adam’s hair and thrust for the last time, and then he was coming, spilling himself down Adam’s throat. Adam took that, too, though some spilled onto his lips. He swallowed Ronan down and stroked himself harder and then he was coming too, his cries muffled by Ronan’s cock still in his mouth, his body arching as he thrust against his hand.

Ronan sagged back against the wall, letting it hold him up while he caught his breath. Then he sank to his knees and pulled Adam to him. When they kissed, he could taste himself on Adam’s bruised lips, and he felt his body wishing he had enough energy for _more, more_. 

He dragged his fingers through Adam’s hair, a complete mess thanks to Ronan’s attentions, and let himself simply enjoy the moment. Adam there, warm against him, content and sated. His own thoughts, empty in that pure way that postcoital bliss brought.

He could have this. He would have this. Adam was going to marry him.

“We should get cleaned up,” Adam said, but he made no move to pull away. He kissed Ronan again, tender, and brushed his fingers across Ronan’s. “I should get you a ring.”

Ronan snorted. He wasn’t the jewelry type, and Adam knew that. “Better be the biggest diamond you can find, or I won’t be able to show my face in high society anymore.” He thought about getting Adam a ring, about the way it would look on his elegant fingers. He thought about how he would wear anything that Adam gave him.

They would leave for home in a few days. His home, Adam’s home now. In a few weeks, they would be married.

And after that?

They would travel if Adam wanted, or not. They would stay at home, content, and visit Gansey in the city, and have their city friends visit them. Adam would pursue his goals, learn what he wished, and Ronan would make impossible things.

They would be happy.


End file.
